Heartstone
by jeza.red
Summary: Nuada broke the world. Now he needs to fix it. John wonders if it's some kind of a joke that Fates keep playing on him.This whole "pure-heartedness" is grossly overrated.
1. Chapter 1

John isn't completely sure he likes this situation. Hell, he's not even sure he understands it completely. However, he can't say it aloud – it may be as well, because Olga looks at him sternly and he knows she's not one to trifle with. She's old and smart, and the look in her green eyes says she knows what he's thinking about, anyway.

_I am not sure I agreed to this_ – he wants to say, but then she just _looks_ harder and he knows it's a lost case.

"I don't like it," he says instead and it's very true and very useless in this situation.

"You were chosen, Johnny," Olga repeats and her shushing Slavic accent turns these words into some kind of a song.

Or a curse.

"You are a good boy."

He wants to cry and laugh at the same time. Look where being a 'good boy' has got him! First, a secret government agency full of freaks, Russian catacombs full of monsters, an Arctic base full of resentment and smell of unwashed furs, a half-baked mission to Great Falls, Washington, where he met this woman made of water and wet grass.

"I still don't like it. Couldn't he... why couldn't it be one of his kind? I am human, I should not... It shouldn't happen!" he rasped.

"It shouldn't," rusalka agreed, reaching to touch his face. "But pure hearts are so very rare and Mother wanted it to be you."

Water dripped down his chin, but he didn't care about it. He let his cheek rest in the cool palm of Olga's hand. She was the first Other he met after coming back from Antarctica – stranded from the group, lost in the park growing on the bank of Potomac. It was a cold, rainy night and – in retrospect – it's no wonder John has slipped on the stones and fell into the canal. He just started seeing his life appearing before his eyes when he felt gentle hands grip his shoulders and push him up, towards the water's surface.

When he saw her face for the first time – small, sharp, beautiful face and her big green eyes – he was scared. But she didn't drown him, didn't tickle him to death. She helped him out with a vague "you are something else, boy" explanation when he asked "why". Since then John was visiting Great Falls when he needed to talk to someone and make himself remember that not all of the Other Kind are bad, hateful creatures. Sure, there were still a lot of them out there, but there were also those like Olga, who just wanted to live in peace.

And then one day he was taken to the lowest of levels of the base that he wasn't even aware of existing and shown that... Sidhe.

And everything came to a halt.

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The body on the catafalque was cold. Not the usual coldness of the dead things (and isn't it scary when a man knows exactly how cold is a real dead boy supposed to be?). It was cold like the stone it was laying at and just as hard.

John never imagined Sidhe this way. When he was hearing word "elf", his mind jumped to the image of a slender, bright creature with long, silky hair and kind face. They were like that in the Lord of the Rings. From the childhood stories, John also remembered that elves were supposed to have wings; tiny, glittering wings.

Well, maybe Andersen and Tolkien were writing about different elves – ones that didn't plan to wipe out humanity as a whole and return to Old Ways.

In this particular instance, only things that were correct were silky hair and brightness. Or maybe paleness? Or chalkiness?

John didn't know how this body came into possession of the Agency. He didn't want to know, to tell the truth, especially asked not to be told. Facts were facts – they've had it and they had no clue what to do with it. New administration of BPRD had more sense that Manning has ever had and knew how unwise it was to ignore any signs of danger. They knew not to poke at something that could snap their fingers off. Since they lost their three best... agents, much has changed in the Agency.

John could see it on his own example. Who would have thought that after coming back from the Antarctic he 'd be promoted to Senior Agent? True, he's came back in a better shape that he ever was in, but it was not his doing, but the... circumstances, rather. No one told him that on that icy rathole lives about a hundred things that would gladly have his dinner. And no one told him about those two hundreds that wanted to have_him_ for dinner. Over all, there was a lot of running, climbing and surviving by the skin of his teeth. Antarctic base consisted of a dozen of termic tents and a few dozens of agents who has their hands full almost non-stop. Either you got used to it all or you ended up dead.

Hellboy wanted to give him a baptism of fire and he did. If only the red monkey was present, so John could yell at him in person.

Unfortunately, red giant and his family were AWOL and off radars. Rumour had it that they were currently in co-operation with British government, but nothing was affirmed yet. They went out of their way to avoid any contact with the Agency and John was not really surprised. It hurt a bit that they didn't even deem it necessary to leave him a freaking Goodbye card, but after a while, he stopped thinking about it. There was too much to do to muse over his hurt feelings.

So, he has been promoted. Officially because o f his experience in dealing with supernatural eye-to-eye. He couldn't deny, while chasing after Hellboy trough few dozens of missions he's managed to glimpse this and that. But in no way that prepared him to be a leader the administration wanted him to be.

What was he supposed to do on his own? Replace three agents that until now were pulling BPRD forward? Him and what army?

Agency couldn't count on its' agents to get into the thick of things with guns blazing anymore. Only Hellboy could do it. Against supernatural, one-on-one, humans always lost. Manning realised it a little too late.

Their only hope now was in the knowledge that was suddenly much harder to acquire without Abe's help. Library of the late professor Bruttenholm was a very useful resource, but it took time to get through most of it. Many sleepless nights. It was of essence to change the tactics of certain squads; make some idiots aware that no matter how cute this thing looks, it's still able to bite off their legs; that there are things one shouldn't touch until they attack first, and even more things that one shouldn't touch EVER. That, if you want to be a hero, you better make sure beforehand that you're over six feet tall, built like a brick house, red, horned and pretty much indestructible. Otherwise, stick to the fucking plan!

Now it was John's responsibility – to make up these plans.

He's got wiser out in the Antarctic base. He came to the conclusion that dying before turning forty would sucks, so he didn't let them push him out in the field. Not this time. Instead, he's buried himself in the books, documents and files of the professor, he's honed up his knowledge of history, widely understood occultism and religion. Slowly, but steadily the sleepless nights spent at the desk opposite Abe's empty tank were giving off effects. After a while John could easily tell apart most of the creatures that could be dangerous from those that were essentially harmless.

It was a little scary how many of those harmless Others were incorrectly put on the list titled "Exterminate". Trying to correct that gross mistake took professor Bruttenholm a big part of his life with little success. John had a little more luck – because he's got less scruples and easier access to the databases. A few smears of correction pen, swift use of a Del key and the world was a little bit nicer.

At least right until the new administration decided that knowing your enemy is a road to success, so let us know our enemies _really_ well.

That's how the Morgue came to exist. A set of rooms that could remind a museum – if any museum displayed ghosts of mages and murderers locked in glass cubes, mummies, frozen bodies of werewolves and vampires, tooth fairies, gnomes, trolls and... Sidhe.

"The pearl of the collection," murmured John sourly, standing by the dead elven prince.

The cold face was emanating such calm it was actually hard not to look at. At the first look it seemed human enough, but there was something very... alien about it. Something that pulled at the attention and made the prince seem less human than a fully transformed werewolf. Nuada was reasonably handsome, with strong, even features and unsettling shadows around his closed eyes. There was something violent and wild in the set of his lips, the tightness of the eyebrows, but lying there, so calm and still, he looked almost... beautiful.

Ladies from Section Five often wasted their lunch breaks staring at the camera's feed from this part of the Morgue. John understood them a little – because, my God, a real elf! And, true, he was way behind Legolas, but he was a piece of nice looking flesh and cute at that... was!

The girls had to go out more often, that was John's opinion that he shared with the director at every occasion. And they should bury the prince as the common courtesy demanded. Maybe he was a bastard set on offing humans, maybe he killed many and wanted to destroy the world as they know it...

But he was dead now. He's lost – in more ways than one. His plans were in shambles, his world was once again pushed to the side, forgotten again. His sister was dead and his people didn't want to remember their prince.

John understood that in the Other World memory was everything. Being forgotten was the worst that could happen to anyone. World of magic was very literal; how others seen you meant how you were. And if they didn't see you, simple, you _weren't_.

And prince Nuada very certainly _was_. And, in spite of his faults, he deserved to be remembered.

They all deserved it – the Other Kind – because their world was beautiful and terrifying in equal measure, it was something that the humanity discarded maybe too quick. It was like porcelain dolls that the mothers of John's generation used to play with – all lacy dresses that were a treat to look at, but their unmoving smiling faces brought fear when the lights were off. It was better to just hide them, lock them in the cupboard and try to forget their shiny glass eyes.

Not many people realised that together with them, they're locking up their own childhood. Secrets whispered under the blankets and a calm, steady magic that every mother knew how to use – kissing a booboo so it stopped hurting. It was a sad thing.

And he was too young to get all sentimental!

"You're only twenty seven, John!" Agent Myers scolded himself harshly. "Too early for mushy conversations with ghosts."

Well, truth to be told, in his profession it was never too late too. You never knew when the director decides to send you to some haunted church – because, against popular opinion, ghosts loved churches and often choose them as their residence. Churches were calm and quiet – total opposite of graveyards.

He knew about it thanks to one elder lady who liked to crochet in one of the small churches in Leesburg, Washington. It was one of the rare missions that John let himself be dispatched on and didn't regret it in the slightest. Luise McCoy (_yes, my dear, real McCoy_) was a lovely older lady who looked at the 'youth nowadays' with a quiet smile and gladly shared her recipe for an amazing apple pie. She was doing no harm sitting there under one of the windows where the light was the best, calmly crocheting frilly serviettes. Until.

Until one young idiot decided that robbing the church is a grand idea. Gran McCoy, quite rightly, didn't like that attitude one bit. In the end the young idiot went to the hospital with a cardiac arrest and the ghost of the older lady had to be calmed down and reassured that, no, they're not removing her from the church. It's fine and she can stay.

John liked missions like this one. Ones that affirmed his quiet belief that not everything that's "different" is evil; that it's possible to live in co-existence with them as long as they're allowed to exist in peace. That most of the Other Kind just want to live their lives.

A pity that prince Nuada didn't belong to that group. Everything could have been different then.

Agent Myers looked at the stone catafalque for the last time before turning away and leaving the Morgue. On his way out, he switched the lights off, and it didn't surprise him in the least that, even in the darkness, Nuada's body glistened like fresh snow.

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Then it was okay for a while.

Until the unicorn showed up.

That damn hack!


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter in which a secret is shared.

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Or rather, it has started with a pumpkin pie.

In a small, cosy bakery on the East Coast that unknowingly employed two well camouflaged house elves. Tiny creatures possessing magical ability that allowed them to hide in the smallest spaces around the kitchen – from millimetre-wide cracks between cupboards to a shadow of a broom. From what John knew, they've started working in the bakery long time ago, when it belonged to the father of the current owner. They've had a contract with the old man, but now they worked on their own and the new owners didn't even know about them.

Tik and Tak, as they were called, were mainly taking care that the dough didn't deflate and that bugs and cockroaches stayed away from the kitchen. As a payment for their service they gladly picked up crumbs left in the pans and on the first of every month nicked a whole glazed bun. With raisins. This was something they were ashamed to admit, but John assured them in friendly whisper that the baked probably didn't even realise a lack of one bun a month so it was nothing to feel bad about.

He's befriended them by complete accident. One time after a very unpleasant mission he simply entered the bakery to buy himself something to eat – ordered by Kowalski to leave the clean-up to his squad and piss off _and_ _goddamnit Myers, get some coffee in yourself, will ya!_ (it was major's usual way of being kind without appearing to be so before his squad.) Always willing to compromise, John gladly pissed off.

Just as he was sitting at the table in the corner of a small lobby with his pumpkin pie in one hand and a latte in the other, saltshaker on the table jumped and two pairs of big, shiny eyes stared at him from its shadow. And a tiny, high voice pleaded: "Don't take us away!".

John didn't know how the flow of gossip in the Other World worked, but it had to be impressive. They have barely finished relocating one irate mermaid who for some reason decided that pulling port workers underwater was a good idea, and everyone concerned already knew that BPRD is in the town.

Not wanting to look like a bigger weirdo that he already was, John daftly put a wireless headphone in his ear and started the questioning. After he's got his answers, he shared his pie with the house elves and promised them that, yeah, they could stay where they were as long as they behave.

From this point on John made it his custom to check on them bakery time he was in the neighbourhood. The pumpkin pie was excellent and he's always got all the newest gossip from the Other Side. As it turned out, the house elves were at the top of the unofficial info-ladder and usually knew everything first.

As an agent, John always believed in being well informed – no matter which side shared the info. Granny McCoy, Tik and Tak – they were just a part of those John could refer to in a time of need. There was Olga, a Russian rusalka living currently in the Great Falls, Washington. Another onewas a gargoyle occupying the roof of St. Patrick's church in New York (most of the people thought there's no gargoyles on the church, but that only meant they've never bothered to look hard enough). They were cooperating with him because every rogue Other that caused trouble was bringing problems on the heads of them all – as once Olga has put it.

So, one November evening greeted John entering the familiar doors, ordering his usual pie with medium latte, and taking his usual place in the corner. It was a... bad month. Halloween was always trying, but this year it was especially harsh; they've lost agent Smith and a dozen other men was wounded on the job.

John was about to get into his pie when the saltshaker jumped. Tik and Tak shyly stepped from behind it.

John never knew what sex they were exactly, because they've looked equally feminine and masculine, and just plain Other. He's had the same problem with wodyanoy and striges, couldn't guess on his own and asking always seemed rude.

House elves looked like mirror images of each other, the only difference was that Tak wore blue hat on his head whereas Tik's hat was red. Underneath them were identical tousled mops of ashen hair, delicate faces with big opalescent milky eyes, and stick-thin bodies dressed in miniature copies of old-fashioned baker's aprons. The image ended on two pairs of tiny shoes adorned with sequins.

For an untrained eyes they both could seem to be some old-fashioned dolls, but a trained individual could plainly see that their teeth were surprisingly sharp and their tiny fingers were topped with needle-like claws.

A sudden memory of a recording with Tooth Fairies made John shudder. No Other was defenceless and entirely safe. Mister Andersen would be very surprised if he ever knew how long and sharp were the teeth of his Little Mermaid.

"Welcome, mister Myers!" greeted Tik.

"Hi, John!" greeted Tak.

"Hello," answered John quietly. He swiftly craved two small pieces from his slice of pie and handed them to the elves on the end of a fork. "Help yourself."

Tiny creatures didn't have to be told twice. They were little gluttons for everything that was sweet. John took a minute to get a head start on his coffee.

"Do you want to know something, John?" asked Tak, wiping his mouth on a sleeve. "Something really cool?"

" Let him finish his coffee!" Tik scolded his twin and neatly wiped his little hands on the apron.

John smiled and obediently continued to drink his coffee. It was nice, to just sit there and not have to think. When he put the empty mug in the table, house elves brightened considerably.

"What do you have for me?" he asked, leaning in to hear them better barely stifling a yawn.

"Oh, are you tired, John?" Tak was instantly concerned. "Did you work a lot again? Mommy says that when humans work too much they get sick and die."

"No they don't, stupid!" Tik was indigent again. "It was before, now they have Holidays and Sickleaves!" The turned his shiny, pale eyes on John and asked in concerned voice: "Do you have Holidays and Sickleaves, mister Myers?"

"I do," he could barely refrain from laughing, but stopping an incoming argument was more important. "And I am okay, just a little winded after Halloween. What did you want to tell me, then?"

House elves sighed in perfect tandem and the worry on their faces disappeared.

"You know, it's like this..." Tik started.

"No one can know about it!" Tak cut in.

"...and you have to promise to not tell a soul..."

"...or we'll get in trouble..."

"...and our mommy will get mad..."

"...and it will be bad."

"I promise not to tell a soul," John tried to sound as if he wasn't amused by their pattern of speaking. Promises were a big deal among the Others. "Scout's honour!"

Oh, that stung for a second. These glitches of the heart have to stop, because it's getting ridiculous! He was sure that he's got over tearing up at the sight of a cat!

Meanwhile Tik and Tak nodded to themselves and both took a big breath to whisper loudly:

"A Lady is going to visit this Side..."

"...and you'll probably meet her."

The capital letter was perfectly pronounced.

John burrowed his eyebrows and asked: "What 'Lady'?"

Tak shook his little head so hard that his hat almost fell off.

"We can't tell you!" he sqeaked.

"You'll know Her when you see Her," assured calmly Tik.

And then they both looked at John with identical expecting expressions and he could do nothing else than sigh a little and share his pumpkin pie again.

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All the way to the hotel agent Myers was thinking about this new, puzzling information that the house elves shared with him. They seemed very excited about that whole 'Lady'. Who could that be? Hopefully not another Nature Spirit. Mother Earth didn't like humans a lot, they were aware of it, but if she could contain this dislike a little bit longer...

John was too tired to research that 'secret' properly. He was sleepy and in need of a shower. Hotel beds were surprisingly comfortable and the sheets smelled of cleanliness – his sheets at the base always smelled of the same detergent that got irritating after a while.

For a few months already John kept promising himself that he'll find himself a flat and move out of the BPRD, but it never happened. Why would he want to leave? He worked, ate and slept in the library – he's got a separate room on the other side of the corridor only because Kowalski has threatened him with bodily harm if he finds John slumped on the desk one more time.

As far as half-measures went this one was smart, efficient and completely pathetic.

John promised himself that he will stop waiting for them and wanted to keep that promise. Until now, it was going great: he has his work, his responsibilities, and no personal life whatsoever.

It was fine for now.

Right until the unicorn decided to send it all to Hell.

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	3. Chapter 3

Time to meet a unicorn. And major Tom Kowalski. And his majestic vocabulary.

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Two weeks after two house elves shard their secret with him, whining of the sirens and mad thumping on the door shocked John awake. He sat up straight, realised that he's still sitting on a chair by the desk and clumsily pulled a piece of paper that got stuck to his right cheek while he was dozing. Then he almost blinded himself by trying to put on a pair of glasses.

Sadly, it was a common state of affairs since the ever-memorable Halloween. For over a month now John was spending more nights behind the desk than in his bed. He started to entertain the thought that angry ghosts and bloodthirsty monsters won't be the cause of his death after all – the cause will be reports, contingency plans and analyses, format: A4; typeset: Arial; calibre: 12.

Somehow he's managed to pull his shoes on and unlock the door... and barely had the time to blink when one meaty hand fisted in his sweater and pulled him outside. Major Kowalski didn't waste time for pleasantries or for releasing his captive, he just started walking.

"Tom... Tom!" John struggled to keep up with the long stride of the major. "What's going on?"

"Trouble, boss," answered the man and his characteristic, hard accent added a harsh quality to the statement.

People in the Agency firmly believed that one day this exact voice will fall from the sky proclaiming The End of Times.

"What trouble? What's happened?"

John had problems with concentrating with the wailing of the sirens echoing inside his skull. Why no one turned them off yet?

"You better see it for yourself," Kowalski grunted out. "You won't fucking believe it!"

"Won't believe in what?"

"You'll see."

Nothing else, then, than just let himself be dragged and see these "troubles" with his own eyes.

The Mission Control Centre was in uproar when John and the major stepped into the room. Agents were running from desk to desk, IT personnel was shouting and cursing, and everyone were staring at the monitors as if their lives depended on it.

"Attention!" roared the major which almost caused couple of younger technicians to fall in dead faint. "At ease!"

John smiled a little at the reactions. This was one bulletproof way of making any commotion stop dead in its tracks – a six-foot-some visibly armed man yelling from the door. Many older agents were of the opinion that if Tom Kowalski wasn't enjoying his military career so much, he'd be an accomplished bank robber.

Thanks to his intervention number of panicked people in the MCC fell down to zero and the technicians snapped out of the funk, making space by the main console for the newcomers.

"This is crazy," agent Jordan whispered to John as he was getting into his chair. "This is absolutely impossible, man!"

Oh yeah, Sean Jordan worked with BPRD for almost two months now; two more should do the job of erasing the word "impossible" from his dictionary.

Although this time John could give him some slack.

Because right now he was looking at the screen showing him a nicely kept lawn in front of the base that was currently occupied by a... unicorn.

John pushed the glassed up his forehead and rubbed his aching eyes – it didn't change anything, the unicorn was still there.

...a unicorn...

It wasn't big, actually it was smaller than most of the ponies he's ever seen. And it... sauntered along the lawn as if it owned it. Walked slowly to the left, scraped the ground with its' front hoof, then went to the right, scraped the ground there. It looked as if it was looking for something.

"I told ya, you won't believe it, boss," major Kowalski sounded smug and damn him, but he was completely right. "This is fucking impossible. The last time I've seen one of those was when my Ma read me fairy tales before sleep."

John wouldn't know, his mom used to read him Little Mechanic, hoping that one day her son will find a sensible job; but he could understand the sentiment behind Kowalski's statement. Everyone at the Agency knew that unicorns existed somewhere on the Other Side, but no one really thought about it and certainly no one expected to _ever_ see one. In the oldest book in the library, painstakingly translated from Cymraeg by the late professor, there was a note about them. The book itself was a translation from the scrolls that were written before Christ even graced the Earth – and it stated that unicorns are so rare that they're almost extinct.

And it did nothing to explain a presence of one of them on their front lawn! Damn it, even infrared cameras agreed that, yep, this one is real!

For this John was not prepared. No plan whatsoever.

Only thing he knew was that...

"Stop the procedures!" he ordered the room at large. "Pull back security squads! Tell them not to even think of lifting their weapons!"

He was aware that all the agents were looking at him as if he's finally snapped until a strong, sure voice cut through the confusion like a blade.

"Everyone's heard Myers, get on with it!"

John didn't wait to see if the order was followed, he was already running down the corridor, trying to reach the elevators as fast as possible. Unarmed, dressed in an old sweater and a pair of even older trainers he was aware that he didn't look like much compared to the trained soldiers, but he just had to get outside and stop them. He just had to.

He didn't know how yet, and he didn't have a clue how to deal with unicorns, but there was one thing John knew for sure. Only thing that was repeated in all the legends and stories about these creatures. A clear warning.

You didn't hurt a unicorn, didn't even try.

Unless you wanted to call a hundred years of misery on your country. And then die painfully.

"What's the plan, boss?" Major caught up to John just as the elevator's doors were opening and didn't stop, he just pushed the smaller man inside.

"I have no plan, Tom." John winced and rubbed the arm that Kowalski almost detached in the hurry. "It all depends on our secret stock of virgins."

"Then we're screwed," major spoke musingly. "Fuck this shit! I've got five minutes before the end of my shift! And it's Italy against England too!"

"You can still go, no one will stop you."

Not that anyone would dare. Tom Kowalski was six-foot-four and weighted about three hundred pounds in pure muscle mass. There was no man in this state brave enough to stand between him and a FIFA Tournament.

"And miss out on this shit? Come on, be reasonable. If it was some fucking werewolf or some other bloody homunculus, but a unicorn? Step behind you, boss!"

Elevator stopped, doors opened and they both rushed towards the entrance of the building.

Outside the sky was dark, but the lawn was flooded with artificial glare of the searchlights. Armed agents were crouching behind every wall and every hedge, air was thick with tension. Every eye was stuck on the little central lawn and the creature occupying it.

John didn't even made five steps in that direction when he was roughly pulled back by the sweater.

"Myers!" sharp whisper of agent Fletcher sounded close to his ear. "What's this bullshit about pulling back? This thing trespassed on out turf, we have to take it into custody!"

Good God, was no one reading notes John was leaving in the central database under the common access? Security guys should have them all remembered like a prayer! It would save them all from looking at him as if he lost his marbles!

"This is a unicorn," John spoke slowly and clearly, like one speaks to particularly dense child. "If one of your guys even scratches him, there will be a Hell to pay. Literally. For us and our children, and the children of their children. War, famine and pestilence: the works."

Yes, he was getting trough. Agent Fletcher was paling nicely.

"Tell them to stand down."

"So what? We just let him walk around until he gets bored and goes away?"

There was much less sarcasm in that remark than John has expected. Agents around him all looked less sure than a minute ago and more nervous than John has ever seen them. No wonder. They probably watched Legend at some point in their lives and still remembered the plot.

The movie ended with a Happy End, but this situation was much less positive. They didn't have heroic Jack to save their asses; all they've had was a tired John with his fogged-up glasses and his worn out sweater.

"Myers?" Fletcher looked at him.

Meanwhile, his people looked at Kowalski, waiting for a signal to attack or to run. It stung a little, but John tried to reason with himself on this matter. Even if he was the brain behind most of the operations, he was still too short, too thin, too plain and organised. Agents counted on his plans to safely bring them home, but didn't question them only because Kowalski's fist was as heavy as his dictionary and both were quickly applied whenever some "dumb fuck" tried to make fun of the Librarian.

John hated this nickname, but it was still better than the 'Boyscout'. And he _did_ spend a lot of time in that damn library.

"Okay," he breathed.

Nothing.

He tried to wipe off his glasses. Put them back on.

"Okay..."

Still nothing.

The smartest course of action would be ordering everyone to pull back and wait for the creature to go its way. There was no point in risking a plague or some other curse.

Yeah, that will do. John opened his mouth to speak...

...and the lights went off.

Everything: lanterns, reflectors, even the laser pointers of the guns. The growing commotion was, again, cut short by the strong voice of the major.

"Calm down, you idiots! It's not dark."

And it wasn't. It was a night of the full moon and the sky was clear. The moon and the stars gave off enough light to make the lawn visible.

Unicorn stopped walking. It stood in place, head thrown back, nostrils pointed up. It looked like a wolf sniffing the air. In the pale moonlight its' pelt glistened with silver and the horn looked like a polished crystal. Its eyes, when its finally looked at the covering humans, were the bluest thing John has ever seen.

And the fact that he could see them this well from the distance of over fifty metres made his head spin.

Or maybe it was because of this song?

"What the hell, Myers? What is it doing now?" barked Fletcher, rapidly shaking his head.

"It's singing," John shrugged in reply.

Because it _was_ a song, no matter that it sounded like an angry hive and a nightingale at the same time. If one listened a little harder, it was easy to find a voice amongst the strange notes – a quiet, mourning cry that caused goose bumps and broke hearts.

Guns and rifles crashed to the ground from the stiff fingers of entranced agents. No one even tried to pick them up.

"What the hell, Myers?" muttered Fletcher round and round. "Wait... Where are you going?"

"To ask it what it wants."

"What? Myers, come back!"

John didn't listen. Slowly, but surely, he passed the driveway and stepped on the lawn. The moment his foot touched the grass a gust of cool wind whirled around him, smelling like fresh snow and... lilies of the valley? Yes, just like that. And, against common sense, it made John unafraid. He didn't hear it anymore – the hypnotising song that pulled him on that suicidal walk, but he wasn't afraid.

Blue eyes tracking his every step were calm and expecting.

Up close the unicorn was... like nothing John has ever seen.

The pelt wasn't white as the man has first thought; it looked more like old ivory and the silverish glow was the effect of dew that settled on it. The creature was not much smaller than a pony, but its' body reminded of a gazelle's – slender legs and thin gambrels. Only the front hoofs were that of a deer, the hind ones were clearly equine. Long, slender neck was covered in a curly mane adorned with glass beads and silver ribbons.

The head was the strangest. It was delicate, almost equine, but not exactly, it had a wide feline forehead and a short nose; delicate pink nostrils kept sniffing the air lightly and long, pointy ears kept constantly shifting.

And, finally, there was the horn.

John, seeing it up close, wondered what idiot compared it to narwhal's. An idiot indeed, for these two were nothing alike. Unicorn's horn was about ten inches long, curved slightly backwards and covered with shallow grooves. It was the colour of a white marble, criss-crossed with silver veins and... splatters of red.

Short bristle at the bottom of the horn was brownish-red; same around the hoofs. And under the lower jaw. It was a colour of an old blood that dried up on white linen before anyone tried to wash it off.

That realisation caused John to stop in his tracks.

No matter how sweet or harmless it looks, it was created with an ability to defend itself. Efficiently.

Awareness that maybe it wasn't such a great idea after all was slowly emerging in his head.

But then he's made a mistake of looking into those blue eyes again and the fear fell away.

"I won't harm you," he spoke quietly.

Unicorn shook its head.

_I know. _

John was not surprised to hear the vice inside his skull. Not the first time in this line of work and surely not the last.

"What are you doing here?" he carried on. "It's not... a good place for you."

This time the answer came in the form of a wave of emotions. _Sorrow. Condemnation. Sadness. Mercy. Hurt that has to be answered for_. And above all of it: _disappointment_.

_Dead prince. _

John understood.

_Take me. _

"Okay."

The creature closed the distance between them and touched his hand with its nose. Sharp end of the horn stopped at the level of John's ribs and stayed in this position for a long moment until it was moved back. He was accepted, it would seem.

Because, after all, it was never about physical purity, was it? It was about purity in a wider sense – a clean conscience, soul unblemished by sin, spiritual purity. In short: only pure hearted could touch the unicorns.

So maybe the professor was right when he and Abe tried to explain that to him a long time ago. Maybe there was a grain of truth in their words. But even that knowledge didn't make John feel any better with the knowledge that the whole Agency just witnessed him passing through the world's most removed Virgin Detector.

He'll never get any respect from these people. Never.

But then the unicorn nosed his hand again and it all became superfluous.

_Betrayal. No loyalty. Sadness. Dead Prince. Dead Princess. Something has ended._

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><p>.<p>

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Walking along the dark corridors of the base reminded him of a sleepwalking. John remembered every step he took, but at the same time wasn't aware of any of them, he wasn't sure how he's managed to walk without tripping or falling into the walls. The darkness around him was absolute, but John's brain decided to ignore it and pretend that everything is as it should be. What was going on?

Unicorn was afraid of the metal the walls and floors were made of, it didn't like the smell down here, the air was "dead" and everything was "wrong." John knew about it because the creature kept touching his hand, leaning its' side on his tight. Every time it touched him John felt as if something in his soul was pulsing, blooming – only to wilt painfully when the contact ended. It was easier to breathe for a second and the darkness exploded in a rainbow of colours, but the walls were too close and the air smelt of iron.

At the end of the journey he felt as if his body was a conductor for an electric current that was slowly burning out his nerves. When they finally stepped inside the Morgue the unicorn trotted to the catafalque, leaving John weak and numb.

The man leaned weakly on the stone table and slowly lowered to the floor. Weird, his knees met cold tiles instead of grass and lilies of the valley... wait, no, it wasn't weird. Him expecting them was weird... right? At least it wasn't dark anymore. Thanks to the clay urn that glowed blue in the corner of the room. The genie sealed inside wouldn't be happy knowing that his previous owner used the urn in the exact same way – as a nightlight.

As John tried to gather his wits, the unicorn was busy around the dead elf. It kept walking around the catafalque and sniffing at the marble limbs of the prince. Veil of sorrow that surrounded it thickened to the point of being almost, _almost_ material.

_Disappointment. Sorrow. So many lives was sacrificed to this madness. So many more will be. And she was so good. Something that should stay whole has been pulled apart and now everything was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. _

Round and round, these words-not-words kept assaulting John's brain causing constant shifts in his awareness. He was sitting on the floor in the base, but he was also standing over the crib with two pale infants in it. He was rubbing his eyes to chase away these images, but he was also seeing an old king as he lowers face into his hands so he doesn't have to look at the son that's walking away from them all. And then...

"Please, stop," he managed to whisper. "It's strange."

_Yes, strange, not right. Both worlds are not right. Both are broken and tired of it. It has to be fixed. It has to be put back together. The Prince has to be punished. _

"But he's dead already!" he tried to protest. "You can't do anything more to him, he's dead!"

_The Prince was young, stupid. Full of hate. He broke the worlds. They need him to fix it. _

"But he is dead!"

Why didn't that creature understand? Nuada was dead, turned into stone and nothing could change it.

John shuddered when the unicorn suddenly appeared in front of his face. These endless blue eyes caught his look and he... understood. This time without words, without meanings. Pure knowledge was poured into his mind.

The prince was Sidhe, not human. He didn't have a soul so to speak, so he didn't go anywhere after his death. All the Other Kin's had was their bodies – and as long as the bodies were unharmed, they didn't go anywhere.

John understood, awed and terrified. He watched the unicorn nod its head and jump on the stone slab to stand over the dead elf.

"_The Prince is for you_," its' said slowly and clearly.

_Atonement. Loneliness. Sadness. _

John tried to get up and see what was happening, but he slipped and landed on his face... in a clump of... grass? Wait, what grass? It was impossible, right? These tiles were sitting on a meter of concrete, steel and God knows what else that was used to secure the base! It was not possible!

The grass dared to differ. Anti-slip tiles were cracking like glass to make space for the bunches of fresh, green grass and herbs that climbed the stone of the slab to reach Nuada.

"You're doing this," John stated uselessly, gaping like a goldfish on the miracle that was happening under his own hands. "Are you...?"

He didn't get an answer; just an amused look from the corner of one sky-blue eye. Then the smell of the flowers thickened around them, unicorn lowered its head and pushed the horn into Nuada's chest...

...the earth didn't shake. Darkness didn't come. None of the glass cases around the room didn't even make a sound. Nothing weird happened.

There was only John and a spreading green carpet underneath him, and a stone catafalque with a dead Sidhe. There was no unicorn and after few seconds the lights came on again.

For some reason agent Myers felt like crying.

"Boss!"

Major Kowalski stomped into the Morgue and helped him up. Tom was pale and his eyes were a little glassy, but his face was free of shock that was clearly written on the faces of the other agents that came stumbling after him.

"What's going on, boss?" major asked quietly, looking around in search of possible danger. The grass and the herbs didn't seem to faze him. "What the fuck has happened?"

John leaned gratefully on the strong arm that kept him upright and shook his head. The feeling of numbness wasn't leaving and his thoughts were a mess; he didn't have answers to any of the questions that Fletcher and Jordan were throwing at him. He needed time to figure it out himself, a moment to rest and make sense of it all...

"Myers, report!"

Well , it seemed that this was all the time he's got.

Director Hart stepped into the room and everyone fell silent.

Eliah Hart was a tall, thin man in his early forties, who looked more like he belonged on a cover for GQ rather than the B.P.R.D. secret base. He was always composed and never lost his nerve, no matter the situation. It seemed that nothing can surprise him; even a unicorn in the heart of the agency didn't seem to manage it.

John remembered that the change from hot-blooded Manning to the ice-cube Hart was hard for the agents at the beginning. From the man who yelled and demanded to the man who asked politely and never raised his voice. Strangely, they all considered the latter one more frightening.

And standing under the heavy stare of Director Hart, John supported that opinion. He tried, honestly, to find strength in himself to straighten up – sure that half of the displeasure in those grey eyes comes from the fact that he was slumping, – while wondering if fainting will get him any mercy points from his superior.

Unexpectedly, he was saved by the ever-supportive major Kowalski and his majestic vocabulary.

"Fuck me sideways, look at that!"

Tom was looking to the side, and when other agents followed his gaze, John released the air from his lungs. He was not surprised when he saw what everyone's been staring at.

"We've got a gift, sir" he spoke quietly. "From the World."

Unknowing and peaceful, prince Nuada slept on the stone table, his chest raising and falling under the cover of fragrant herbs.

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><p>Enjoy!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

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><p>It's not as much of a gift as it is a burden.<p>

Because no one expected the fallen prince to ever come back to life (although, in retrospection, they should have, they _most of all_ should have expected that!) so there was no plan prepared for this event. No backup, no nothing. They had to make it up on the go, before the elf wakes up for good and starts wrecking havoc.

The assumption of havoc was a healthy one and the agents decided to stick to it. Kowalski put his best people to the task of transferring their resurrected prisoner to the strongest cell they've had in the base. Major was adamant about choosing one of the upper level cells with a thought that if the prisoner manages to escape, it was in the best interests of everyone to put as little of actual life between him and the door as possible.

Some agents scoffed at the decision a little, but when Director Hart admitted that the reasoning behind it is solid – he was one of the few that has seen the tapes and knew what the prince can do – they fell silent.

John could've cried with pride that the months he's spent beating the operational squads over their heads with files upon files of warnings and advice finally paid off. He was even more proud of the major, because his own input in the decision was strictly speaking non-existent.

Against all odds John managed to lose his consciousness. At the right time too, just when the Director turned back to him with his eyebrows inching together and lips bowing down. John tried to set his shoulders and steeled himself for any accusations or questions... and then his knees gave out and all he remembered was Kowalski's hand tightening on his shoulder and a choir of worried murmurs. And then nothing.

John thought it wasn't presumptuous of him after all this weirdness and nerves to expect some enlightening dreams or a straight out prophesy to find him in his sleep. Damn, he well deserved it after all that brain-frying the unicorn subjected him to! But nope, not a peep. He slept for seven hours with only calm blankness to keep him company. What wouldn't he give to share Abe's gift of _knowing what the hell is going on_.

It would help him greatly when he woke up in the emergency wing with the doctors asking him to follow the light with his eyes and one of Kowalski's men hovering by the doors. He wouldn't feel like an idiot two hours later standing in Director's office and trying to piece together some sort of a believable explanation for the man who decided about his wages and immediate wellbeing. All John could stammer out at this point was that yes, the unicorn spoke to him and charmed him into compliance.

Which was only a part lie, because John was pretty sure that he wouldn't step into immediate danger on his own; but he was also very aware of the fact that _Oh My God a Unicorn_! factor probably weighted heavily on his decision to let himself be charmed.

What he knew for sure was that the magical creature wasn't a danger to any of the agents as long as it was allowed to accomplish its' mission. Yes, the mission seemed to be resurrecting the fallen prince. And yes, it seems that the unicorn knew it was going to perish.

And no, John had absolutely no clue as to why it all happened other than what the creature itself told him.

The prince is for them.

Then he stood in front of the desk as Director Hart stared at him with calculating look for a long while.

"If you don't know," he finally spoke, "then why won't you ask those who do?"

Which shocked John to a certain degree. Carefully worded as it was, this was an indirect order for him to go out and contact one of his... network. Which was surprising and not something that he ever expected to hear from this man.

It was no secret that agent John T. Myers was keeping contacts with some of the Other Kin. It was not talked about and didn't make him any friends among fellow operatives – quite opposite on few occasions – but it was known. Up until this point Director seemed to ignore the issue altogether, with a clear underlining understanding that if he ever shown an interest in it, it would be a negative sort.

But right now he was straight out _sending_ one of his men to _ask advice_ of the Other Kin.

It made John feel nervous... but also strangely satisfied.

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><p>o<p>

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"So the unicorn made the decision." Olga looked at John with her big dark eyes. She always seemed amused when she looked at him, this time was no different. "It's very unusual, but we were all expecting something like this to happen."

John has made his decision after a deep contemplation of his options. He needed some questions answered and fast. Tik and Tak, while both talkative and always willing to share their knowledge, were a little too... talkative. Gossip ran both ways, he was aware, and Director wouldn't be happy if one of his people made the Other Side aware of the workings of the Agency. Also, the bakery was a little too far at the moment when time was of essence.

Another option was Alois, a gargoyle residing on St. Patrick's church, but John usually tended to treat this option as a last resort. Alois was smart, knew a lot about magic and, well, pretty much everything. But he was also old, sarcastic and a pain in the back most of the time. Helping others was not in his nature.

No, this time John needed someone wise and connected to both Sides in equal measure. Someone who would keep a secret and offer advice for free.

That left only one person.

Olga was the wisest creature John has ever encountered. She never disappointed him.

"Something like what?" he asked. "The unicorn said that the prince... broke the world and has to fix it. How? And who decided about it?"

She looked at him again, and John had to fight not to stare at her. She was beautiful, but in the same unsettling way that princess Nuala was beautiful, the same way Tik and Tak could be called "cute". Her face was delicate and perfectly proportioned, but her eyes were a little too big and very black. Her skin was pale green and if one looked hard enough, they would notice that it was actually made of water, see how tiny seeds or leafs of duckweed swim in and out of sight. Her hair were made of reeds that swayed gently in the unseen current. Her body over the water was very... shapely. Below the water was nothing; ss if rusalka started and ended with the river's surface.

Still, the part that was visible was nothing less than... distracting.

For an element of nature bound by a will to exist, it was a near perfect copy of a woman's body.

Olga knew it. And she used it shamelessly; even now, she grabbed the rocks on the shore and pulled herself a little higher to meet John's eyes. And then a little higher still to look down on him and have his eyes meet her... well. Her very, very _nearly_ perfect bosom.

Oh, who was he kidding!

Good thing that the agents Kowalski sent with him stayed back in the car. There would be no end to gross comments and sexual innuendos otherwise.

"Eh, malczik," Olga sighed and made a move to pat his head. "In the past you called her Mother, Mokosz, now you have no name for Her anymore. But She's there, all around. She's in everything, like time, like air. She's what makes world exist."

Oh. That high then. Damn.

"Mother Nature?" John risked. When rusalka nodded her head, he shivered. "So we're screwed then. She doesn't like us very much."

Olga laughed and the sound reminded John of a running stream.

"She doesn't care about small things like you enough to 'not like' you," she scolded with humour. "Neither you nor Sidhe can't bring her any harm. You poison and hurt Her now, but one day you'll all pass away and She will flourish again. If She really took you as a threat, you wouldn't be here anymore, humans."

"That's rather harsh," he tried to joke. But really, this was no joking matter. "So why did She decide to bring him back? If we're not that important? And why give him to us? There's a lot of bad blood between this particular Sidhe and the Agency."

"She doesn't care about your little spats, your little wars," Olga shrugged, as if she agreed with the statement wholeheartedly. "But this time something serious happened. The prince almost broke the Order of Things and that is one thing She can't allow."

"The Order of Things?" John repeated, mesmerised. That was a lot of... power in the hands Nuada's right there, to mess up with the foundation of the world. Well, the unicorn didn't exaggerate. "But how?"

"Think, Johnny!" She looked into his eyes again. "How your world works. Everything dies, passes away. Everything is replaced by the new and better, more adjusted. That's how we passed away, how Sidhe passed and how humans will one day make place for something new. The world has to follow that order, otherwise it will perish."

"Order. So the prince... Nuada wanted to reverse it, yes?" John was starting to grasp it. "He wanted to bring back the Other Side, his kin to rule the earth again."

"Yes." Olga nodded gravely. "The prince shook the world and almost called a war. It was enough to wake the Evil from slumber."

"Evil?" Now John's brain was working with double speed on connecting the dots and trying to decipher the meanings. Oh. "Oh. So that's why Halloween this year was so busy."

"Yes, Oh. And this is just the beginning, Johnny. Evil hides, saps energy from the living world. It will come after you if you're not careful."

"So that's why She revived him," John whispered, wiping his face with one trembling hand. "He's ours."

Olga was looking at him strangely again, not an ember of humour in her gaze this time.

"He's yours," she repeated.

"Why can't this Mother..." he waved his hand around. "Why can't she deal with the _Evil_ herself? If She's so powerful and, well, everywhere."

"Because the Evil is too fragmented. Too spread. Hunting every piece separately would take too much of Her attention and that can't happen. You have to understand, Johnny, that She moves very slowly and very seldom. Because when She does decides to act new lands appear and seas cover the old ones. For your kind it would spell a certain death – and She can't let it happen while there's nothing to replace you yet."

Oh, now his hands were definitely shaking. It might have been the cold, John kept telling himself, it was a middle of December, it was cold and wet and Olga radiated the same cool aura the Other Kind usually did. He was sitting on a wet stone in the middle of the night, no wonder he's chilled to the bone!

Yes, that was it. The only reason for his shaking hands.

"Go home, Johnny," Olga saw trough him without problem. "You have to rest."

"Thank you for help, Olga. You are very wise."

"And you are a flatterer, boy. Go home."

He wanted to do it. How he wanted to listen to her, but at the same time he was stalling. Going back to the Agency meant going back into the middle of a _Situation_ with an answer that won't satisfy Director Hart in the slightest.

"So he's supposed to help us fight those pieces of evil?"

"Do you need his help?"

God yes, they did. Without Hellboy they didn't have any kind of a strike force anymore, they were downgraded to only _reacting_, like an ambulance services that would make it on time to the car crash or not.

And the prince was a hell of a fighter. He would be useful.

Only question remained: would he want to help?

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><p>o<p>

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In the end, Director Hart was not impressed. Obviously.

He stared at John even longer, making him feel nervous and young _and get your hands out of your pockets!_ Aunt Eileen looked at him like that when he was a little boy, with a thinly disguised suspicion.

John felt under this look as if he's turned unknowingly in some newly discovered species of a water mammal.

"So, to sum it up," finally, the dry voice of the man broke the silence. "You're telling me, Myers, that there's some entity that runs the world. And when prince Nuada tried to take over, he messed up and made it worse for everyone. Now this entity decided to get him back and make him fix his mess... by helping us."

"Yes, sir."

It was better to just nod and agree with Eliah Hart.

John kind of missed the solid presence of major Kowalski behind his back. He really did.

"It would seem like it, sir."

"How can we be sure it is, indeed, the case?"

He was afraid of this question.

"With all due respect, sir, but this was a unicorn." When the answer gave him only a raised eyebrow, John coughed and continued. "My... source is trustworthy, sir. I have no reasons to doubt it."

"Even in such important matter?"

"Especially in such important matter."

Which got him a look that spelled "huh, interesting". Seems that he was upgraded from sea mammal to a new kind of dragonfly. Sweet.

"Tell me, Myers," Director leaned forward, fingers interlacing in front of his face. "You seem to share the views of late professor Bruttehholm, may he rest in peace. What would he say concerning this matter?"

This... was surprisingly flattering comparison. John was struck speechless for a moment or two, not willing to believe that even a part of the decision could be placed in his hands like that. He didn't know the professor in person very well, not really, before the man was murdered. But he went through all the journals he's left and all his research and data. And that had to mean something, because even at his feeble twenty seven John could calmly guess what the professor would say.

"He would be cautious, but he would embrace the chance for evening the scales."

"Evening the scales?" Director looked up him in mild surprise. "I was rather sure that we're in the lead."

"For now, yes, sir."John settled his resolve. It had to be said out loud. After all this time someone had to state the obvious. "But we all know that people do not stand a chance against more powerful of the Other Kin. We were lucky so far, but if there's someone like Rasputin out there? Some strong witch or a... a gifted individual like Elizabeth Sherman? We're basically defenceless. We can plan all we want, but without a strong player in the lead, we are just buying time."

"So you're saying that we need him," strangely, Director didn't look annoyed. He looked... expectant.

"Yes, sir, that's what I'm saying."

"And what are the prince's thoughts on the matter?"

And it was this exact moment when John felt the trap snapping tight around his ankle. His eyes opened wide and the Director smiled at his stunned expression.

That old sly fox. That bastard.

"Why won't you go and ask him? Major Kowalski informed me that our guest woke up when you were away."

He could only nod and murmur some kind of a "of course, I will, now, sir" before getting dismissed.

He could feel the trap biting into his skin, but wasn't yet aware how long the chain fastened to it stretched or what was on the other end.

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><p>Enjoy:)<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

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Alive, prince Nuada was even more fascinating. John was sure, before, that the paleness of his skin was a consequence of him being, well, dead and marble, but it turned out he was mistaken. Now the elf's skin was even lighter, almost glowing – like moonlight, cold and silverfish.

From the first moment after stepping into the cell, John knew that the yellow eyes of the Sidhe will feature in his dreams frequently. In this sort of dreams that left him panting and sweaty and afraid of opening his eyes in the darkness of the bedroom, tired after a deadly chase that never happened. These eyes were up there on the list of the worst things a human could ever see: right next to Samael demons and Anung Un Rama's horned profile.

These eyes looked at him from the darkness of a small cell the prince was being kept in – or just assumed that he can be kept in. Overhead lights were shattered and metal walls were already darkening from corrosion even thought they were probably made of the better half of periodic table. No one could explain how it happened, but Sidhe and certain kind o metals just didn't agree with each other. It was one of the reasons why the catafalque has been made of stone... before.

John felt so young, so insignificant standing there on the doorstep, neither in or out of the small square cage. Ha had an escort, he was armed, but he felt so small under the watchful stare of Nuada's yellow eyes.

He read the files, he knew who he was looking at, he knew what this Sidhe was capable of doing. This creature fought _Hellboy_ to a standstill and almost destroyed the world. Prince of the fallen race had tasted defeat only because one half of his heart was not his.

He was humanoid in shape; very well built, actually – but John realised with surprise that he would feel better in the presence of a fully transformed werewolf. At least _there_, somewhere, was something human. A core that made the beast even more scary, but at least understandable. There was nothing of the sort in Nuada.

He was _Other_. Weak and pale, and defeated, held captive by the race he despised – yet somehow, there and then he was truly terrifying.

John was astonished how much his mind protested to seeing this being for what it was. It tried to make it seem more human, to make its face softer, its posture less threatening. For all it was worth, his mind tried to change John's perception of the prince. It didn't work, Nuada was still deadly and different – and John couldn't help but be completely, crushingly aware of it.

He didn't see the man, the male, he was seeing the _Other Kind_ – like Samael demons, like Anung un Rama, like that clockwork man.

He was seeing a monster and his body couldn't move an inch forward...

Right until he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder and remembered that there's a solid glass wall between him and the prince. And another one, even more solid wall, standing behind his back.

"He does that," major Kowalski spat. He was annoyed, but also strangely... fascinated. "Looks at you and turns you into a sissy. Richards almost run from him earlier."

It wasn't reassuring in the least, but it was some explanation and John was good with taking whatever scraps of reason he was given and knitting a perfectly pressed composure to hide behind. He took a large breath and released it slowly, lightly patting the hand that was still resting on his shoulder.

Major understood and stepped back with a nod.

"That can be fuckin' useful, if you ask me," he smirked. "Can use him to sieve my squad for pussies."

Yes, no one could fault Tom Kowalski for not being a practical man.

"Was he like that all this time?" John decided to focus on the subject at hand.

He nodded in the direction of the prince who was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his cell and just... looked at them. Motionless. He didn't seem to be breathing.

The cell as a whole was separated into two rooms with a foot-thick glass wall; on one side was a simple metal bed covered with scratchy blankets and a resurrected elf, on the other was a small table, two uncomfortable chairs and doors made of reinforced steel. The only light in the separated cell was coming from behind the glass.

"After he woke up, he was kinda disoriented," relayed Kowalski, absentmindedly poking at his bruised knuckles. A week ago he fought a goblin to a standstill. "At least looked like he was. He didn't make a peep, just busted the lights, and I tell you, boss, watching that backflip made my spine hurt. Then he just sat down like this and kept scaring my girls to tears ."

"How long?"

"About five hours ago."

John tired not to look to closely at the prince, while at the same time trying to read as much as he could from his posture and expression.

Both were giving him nothing. Nuada was sitting straight and seemed relaxed, but John was aware that if the elf got a chance to attack them, he probably wouldn't see the hit before it crushed his windpipe. He couldn't see much of the prince's body, as he was still wearing the elaborate armour he... died in that effectively hid every nervous twitch or a muscle spasm. John decided to focus on his hands instead. Each laying on one tight, they seemed loose and at rest, but a closer look revealed that every once in a while one of the fingers moved slightly. Just a twitch, but John underlined it in his mental list of "clues where to start running."

He never thought he'd have to start another list like this after... Hellboy and his family left. It was a simple trick that agent Myers discovered while trying to 'care' for the red giant – tiny details that betrayed his moods. John learned to look at the tail first, then at the stone hand before he even started talking to the man and it saved his hide more times than one.

Now it made him feel – not safer, exactly, but more sure of himself. Like he was getting back on the known turf.

He allowed himself a few more minutes of observation before deciding to finally step forward, close to the glass, and look Nuada in the face.

Yellow eyes snapped to his immediately and John had the strangest impression of looking into the eyes of a wild wolf. With the difference being that wolves usually avoided human's eyes, while Nuada sought him out in a silent challenge.

Oh, this John recognised now, this posture: straight back, set shoulders. He knew what was going on. It seemed that posing in front of the enemies was a common habit in all _royal_ families. Hellboy did this thing too, probably even more unwittingly than the prince. Being big and brick-red was enough to make normal people cringe, but when it came to the serious opponents the game became very subtle indeed. Slight shift of the shoulder, tilting one's head back by a millimetre or two, sudden economy of gestures and a lot of nonchalance. Potential enemy was watched carefully – his every move, every breath, every blink.

It could take long minutes for two alpha males to assess each other's worth.

Hellboy was great at this game – that's why John was so tragic at it. Nonchalance was not his forte, he would rather hide behind a healthy dose of pragmatic professionalism. He could not pose in from of normal people, he was too honest. Compared to Red he never stood any chance so he gave up pretty easily.

And Nuada was much older and stronger than John, and both of them knew that if the elf really wanted to kill him, two fingers would to the job. So there was no point in playing coy.

Let the prince see the real him: a human who was as dumbfounded by the situation as the Sidhe had to be.

Nuada saw just that and he didn't look happy. He pulled his head sharply to the side and very ostentatiously looked away from the man on the other side of the glass. John had seen a cat react like this to a dead mouse once. In a disdainful, well-this-is-disappointing sort of way.

He sighed. Well, at least he had some experience in this already.

He tried hard to ignore the major's snort of amusement at this exchange. Yes, no one respected him these days, can we move along now?

Nothing to it, then.

"Are you hungry?" he asked with a completely straight face.

Unexpected question made Nuada tense; he tried to hide it, but John had two years of working with one red devil and a tribe of pampered cats behind his belt, so he knew how to look for the smallest of details. Like the way those yellow eyes darted in his direction for a split second.

"What does the Sidhe eat?" he continued, not even slightly concerned about the lack of reply. "I am assuming it's not morning dew or nectar of lilies, but I can be mistaken and if you require anything special better tell me now, so I can warn the chefs beforehand. At the moment I'm afraid that the only things we have to offer are processed meat, genetically modified vegetables, artificial colorants and a lot of vitamin E."

Well, presented like that, it really sounded rather gross. And the slight frown on Nuada's face told John that it really did. Those golden eyes finally looked back at him, this time full of unveiled hostility.

But still not a sound.

"I can give you some clean water, at least?" John made it sound like a question. "You have to be thirsty after a year and a half of being a stone statue. If I can tell you the truth, you don't look very well."

Which was not a very nice thing to say, but then the prince wasn't a very nice person, so in John's mind it all evened out.

For the moment he was rather wondering if Nuada was prone to sunburns or not. Library stated that Sidhe had a volatile relationship with iron (and the walls of the cell seemed to confirm it as a fact), didn't like certain herbs and the smell of blood. They appeared mostly after sunset, but there was no mention of the sun actually harming them. Either way, John decided that getting some lotion with a high filter in advance wouldn't hurt.

And clean water. Yeah, tap water was full of chloride and other things, and probably iron too (he'll have to research that in the nearest future) and it probably won't cut it. Mineral water sounded better. In glass containers – just to stay on the safe side.

It can be kind of problematic if it turns out that bath water also has to be filtered thrice; but if the Agency managed to supply Hellboy with five hearty meals a day, surely they won't scoff too much on one or two trucks of Evian every month. Besides that...

He was running ahead of himself, again. John caught himself just as he was about to plan Nuada's new quarters, wondering how he'll manage to cover up metal walls... It was just so easy. Much too easy to slip back into his tried and comfortable role of a caretaker/nanny/housemaid.

And it was all too jarring to realise that the whole time he was standing there and planning, Nuada was staring holes in his head.

Okay, second try.

"Could you just tell me if you're alright?" John tried, he really did. At this point he _exuded_ curiosity and care, for goodness sake! Even Kowalski stopped sniggering behind his back. "It would make everything..."

"_Human_."

He almost swallowed his tongue when Nuada spoke, a shudder running up his spine. Prince's voice was deep and level; it vibrated in the air like a purr. It rolled like a growl. It said '_human'_, but meant '_worm'_.

Curiously, it did not come from the speakers, but was perfectly heard through the thick layer of glass.

"The last thing I remember seeing was my sister stabbing us in the heart," Nuada spoke(_purred, growled_), hate dripping from every word. "The first thing I see after awakening are the prison walls. Let that be your answer."

Oh, well, right. John had to admit, the prince has a point. It was a _stupid_ question.

"If you want to kill me, better hurry."

"We don't want to kill you!" he started in place.

Nuada tilted his head a little: carefully controlled curiosity. Obviously fake and deliberately condescending.

"Forgive me, if I don't believe you."

The subtext of "_I wouldn't hesitate_" was clear and John felt his palms sweat.

"You see, it's not that easy anymore," he tried to keep his voice steady and light. He was aware that the struggle is obvious. "The unicorn had made his stance on the subject pretty clear."

The moment word 'unicorn" passed his lips, three things happened at once.

Nuada was up and against the glass in a blink of an eye. It took major Kowalski only a split-second more to draw his weapon and pull John back from the wall. And John had only a moment to think about raising his hand to grab major's left wrist and shout: "Tom, no!"

The prince completely ignored the armed man; he leaned on the wall, both hands flat on the glass, all attention focused on the shorter of humans. His golden eyes narrowed into tiny slits that reflected light in a completely eerie way.

"What do you know about Her? Why are you talking to me? Who are you, human?" the questions were hissed out and almost as deadly as real weapons.

John was momentarily torn between the grounding presence of Kowalski (who still didn't lower his gun) and the full force of Nuada's regard, which was, frankly, heart-stopping. He had to swallow twice before he could even feel his tongue and when he managed to speak, his voice came out strangled and tiny.

"I'm the human the unicorn spoke to. John... Myers. B.P.R.D. Research and Planning Department, consulting specialist,..."

_Monster's nanny._

"...and librarian."

"Boss, we better go." Major's free hand tightened on John's shoulder and tugged lightly. The gun hand didn't even shake.

This time both elf and the shorter man ignored him.

"What did She say?" demanded Nuada.

"_He's for you."_ Quoted John. "You made a mess of things, a big one. She's not happy."

At that the prince snarled and pushed back from the glass. He stalked towards the far wall of the cell and stopped there, partially hidden in the darkness.

"Boss, move it."

"We need your help." This earned them another growl and something that sounded like a curse. "She needs your help."

"What you need is a slave!" came the hissed answer. "To fight your wars!"

"I need your answer."

"I have no words for you!"

"Myers! I really don't want to carry you out. It would set a bad precedent."

Unable to resist the insistent pulling of the human steamroller that was Tom Kowalski, John let himself be towed towards the door. He couldn't see the prince anymore, but he knew that he's observed and, more importantly, heard.

"I will be back tomorrow. I can't give you more time."

When the doors behind them closed, John slumped by the wall like a puppet with its' strings cut.

This was... exhausting. For a (quick look at the wristwatch) twenty five minutes of interrogation it was entirely too exhausting.

And what interrogation it has been. Completely pathetic. Director won't be pleased.

"Well, that was some adventure," stated major, holstering his weapon. He nodded at two of his men who were stationed on both sides of the doors. "Leroy, you go in first. Take some coffee and don't look into his eyes. Anything happens, and I mean _fucking anything_, you call for backup. Richards, you're standing guard here, you pussy. Changeover in five."

Dual chorus of "Yessir!" was the only answer. Kowalski nodded and once more hoisted John off the wall to follow him down the corridor leading to, where else, the Cafeteria.

John, for his part, felt humiliated.

"I warned you about a precedent," major smirked over his bent head. "Cheer up, sonny, you did well."

"I did nothing," John corrected the man. "If anything, I made him angry."

"Oh, he was plenty angry before you showed up. And mad as a fucking hatter I would say. But you're the first one who managed to get anything out of him, and that counts as good in my book."

John was not so sure , but arguing with Kowalski was never a good idea so he didn't even try. He just focused on walking and breathing at the same time. His heart felt too heavy, his head too light.

What was it about that Sidhe to make him this way? Was it like that with all of them? Or was it just a Royal thing?

Why was the Cafeteria so far from holding cells?

And why wasn't he more worried about what will happen if tomorrow Nuada still says 'no'?

.

o

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><p>o<p>

.

He didn't have nightmares that night, but his dreams weren't pleasant either. He dreamed of wolves and unicorns, of cats that made him run for the hills and shadows that could pass through walls. And silver. Moonlight and blades, and a pair of sad golden eyes.

And he could swear that he's seen Olga's green face amongst all that weirdness, but she looked much older and wiser than ever. She stared at him like a proud mother, repeating time after time:

"_He's for you."_

_._

_o_

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><p><em>o<em>

_._

Next morning John decided that he's more tired than he was before going to bed. His head pounded as if some heavy drinking happened the night before and his heart still felt too heavy for the chest it was sitting in.

Nuada, surprisingly, didn't look much better.

Actually, as much as it was possible, he looked even worse than previously. As if he spent the night fighting with his thoughts – and the thoughts won by a knockdown.

He was, again, sitting cross-legged in front of the bed, face leaning on one slender hand, hidden by a curtain of white hair. He didn't lift his head when John and major entered the other side of the cell.

"Sold to my enemies as a _servant_," he spoke before any of the men opened their mouth. "What a _fitting_ punishment."

He sounded tired and defeated. Completely wrong.

John was silent when the Sidhe finally lifted his head and looked at him with the eyes of a wolf that was too weary to offer any kind of fight.

"Let it be as She wishes," he almost whispered. "I can fight with you, but not with Her."

John didn't pay attention to his heart at the moment, he was too relieved to spare the thought to the way it finally stopped weighting in his chest.

...and that was his first mistake.

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><p>Thanks for all the reviews, guys^^<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

I know it's slow coming, I know. But that's just how I roll, I like to have the background set before I start playing with the boys_

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><p>.<p>

.

.

From there it went fairly easy.

Well, he liked to think so.

It took two days and a lot of pushing, insisting and grovelling from John to prepare new quarters for the prince. Most of the agents seemed happy to leave the Sidhe in the cell and pull him out of it only when missions came about. Even director Hart leaned slightly to his option until John explained to him that the cell's walls weren't trustworthy anymore and that it was in the Agency's best interests to get into the good graces of their newest heavy hitter.

The process of actual 'employment' between the prince and Director Hart took place out of John's ears. He was busy scrambling for help in refurbishing Hellboy's old rooms (yes, it hurt, but B.P.R.D. didn't have that much living space at hand and, anyway, the rooms were standing unused for over a year now). It took remarkably small amount of time to cover the walls with wooden plating, change the lights to lower powered bulbs and, basically, clean the place out. They've moved a new bed in (wooden, sheets made of 100% cotton), a table and two chairs.

While John was busy debating with himself over the dilemma of acquiring an electric kettle or a microwave (he was just domestic like that), tech guys installed a comprehensive set of cameras and receptors that were to inform them when the elf decided to go on a killing spree.

No one seemed entirely inclined to rely too much on that system.

When the closet was fitted and the shower curtain hung, and everyone made sure that the place is as impersonal as possible, John was left alone to mull over everything that's happened in the span of one week. When he could finally sit down in the LIbrary and actually _think_, it seemed unreal. The Agency has been set on its' head. They were now housing a serial killer that wanted to put all humans out and, accidentally, managed to brake the world as he was at it.

A monster that only looked human, who had no qualms before setting out a flock of starved Tooth Fairies in a room full of people, of releasing a Forest Spirit in a city centre and watching it die.

A creature that could scare a trained soldiers with a look alone.

And John was now in _care_ of this _thing_.

He was terrified. Scared absolutely shitless. But there was no choice, the Mother of All has made her mind and John wasn't ignorant of his own part in that whole mess. He didn't have to lead the unicorn into the base. He could lie and tell the Director to get rid of the resurrected warrior before he even woke up. But he couldn't.

Because, God help them, they needed Nuada on their side.

And only the tiniest part of John's mind, the smallest voice at the back of his heart admitted that he needed something to change and did not regret it very much.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

On the late evening of the third day they moved the prince to his new rooms. Of course it fell to John to take the lead of the whole affair. At least Kowalski was present every second of the way. Him and four of his best people armed and prepared for the worse; two in front, two in the back, in between them Nuada and his stony expression of thinly veiled disgust. John lead the way and the major closed the back, eyes boring holes in Sidhe's back and one hand on the holster.

The walk through the corridors was a silent and tense affair. John felt the weight of the yellow stare on his shoulders and tried to ignore shivers that kept running along his spine. He was a professional, damn it, he could do it.

He couldn't help it that he felt like walking a tiger on a very short and thin leash.

There was so much to do if they wanted to accommodate Nuada into the Agency; official training, health check, psych evaluation, and so on. the Director expected all paperwork filled and processed by the end of the day and John just couldn't wait.

Although he was quietly impressed with the way his boss bravely took Nuada's 'death stare' in stride and even dared to confront him outside of the glass cell. From what Richards relayed later, there was a lot of posing an assessing going on before any of them even spoke. Frankly, no one expected it to go differently. Eliah Hart, if he really put his mind to it, could outstare a basilisk and their current resident basilisk was pretty worn out.

The only disturbance on their way was the moment when the prince suddenly stopped in his tracks without any visible reason. Before he even blinked he's got five barrels aiming at him, which he decided to ignore. John, hearing the commotion, turned around, startled. Nuada wasn't looking at any of them. His head was turned sideways, his eyes trained on the doors leading to...

"It's the library," John explained, praying that his voice doesn't crack. "We may try to get you a clearance to go there sometime. That's where you'll find me most of the time..."

That made Nuada look at him; head tilted again, eyes untrusting and hostile.

"What would I want to find you?" he asked, surprising them all.

Ouch, that was rather harsh. Anderson, the soldier on the far, snickered, but a harsh grunt from the major silenced him.

"Move along, boys," Kowalski's voice forced their feet into motion.

John decided to keep the surprise for later. It would seem that the Director left him with all the explaining too. Great.

When they walked into the room – John first, Leroy and Richards on both sides of the doors inside, Matthews and Anderson likewise on the outside, Kowalski behind the elf - Nuada's face didn't even twitch. His eyes didn't wonder, he just stopped in place and decided to turn back into a marble statue again.

John cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed without any reason.

"Well, this is you new... well, place. It's pretty bare at the moment, but you can decorate it to your taste later. Of course, within reason. You have the basics here, bathroom is behind these doors, and the bed is behind that corner. Clean clothes are in the dresser and towels you will find in the cupboard. Lunch is served at one and dinner at six thirty..."

He was aware that he was rambling. He did that when stressed. It helped him think.

"...this light goes off in emergency, please don't break it. If you have any problem, you can use that communicator. If you require anything..."

"My weapons."

John wondered if it will always be like that – if Nuada speaking will keep startling them. Maybe if he decided to stop with the ominous growl and started sounding like he didn't just ask for their kidneys served cold...

"My spear and sword. Where are they?"

"You are not authorised to have them back yet." Bulletproof answer saved John when his brain short-circuited. These golden eyes will be the death of him, he knew.

It would seem that the basilisk was getting back to form.

"I can hardly fight for you without weapons," he's said with a tight smile that wasn't a smile at all.

John fought the urge to step back and hide behind Kowalski.

"And you'll get them back once everything is settled and processed," he answered stiffly.

"You don't trust me."

Major almost audibly rolled his eyes and John managed to lift one eyebrow. The prince gave them both a look that said "very well" as if they were pets that preformed an amusing trick. He still wasn't pleased, though, and John could understand it. A true warrior such as him had to feel naked without his weapons.

Well, as long as they could feel a little bit safer...

He did not see the move. He's just seen a white and gold blur where Nuada stood and a blink of an eye later his back were smashed into the wall, an elbow slamming into his throat, jamming a startled cry that wanted to escape him.

Oh, how stupid to let his guard down! Stupid!

"Let him go and move away."

Kowalski was not shouting, his voice was stone steady. Likewise the gun he kept level with Nuada's temple. Four other barrels pointed at the rest of pale body's vital points.

John wanted to tell them to stand down, to stop. He was scared shitless at this point and his heart all but jumped out of his chest, but he was alive and he wasn't actively strangled. With an astonishing clarity his brain came out with an answer to the unpredictable and, probably, suicidal move on the prince's part.

So yeah, okay, he was still deadly even without his weapons.

"Step away." Major seemed to understand that too, that's why no shots were fired yet.

When Nuada released him it was a slow, but at the same time incredibly fluid move.

"Pathetic," the prince snarled, wiping his hands.

"Librarian..." John reminded him, stepping away from the wall. He was ignored, though, in the favour of another round of wordless communication – this time between the Sidhe and the major.

Oh, good luck with that, John thought, you will have better chance of strangling a fire hydrant than this man.

He was dizzy. And his back hurt. Damn, he will be in pain tomorrow. But he waited patiently or the new assessment to take it's time; in the meanwhile he was trading worried looks with Richards and trying not to see how Anderson stares at his throat. Well, maybe now they'll understand that being a 'monster's nanny' is not such a gig. At least Helloby didn't...

No. He will not go back to that. Just no.

"Leave. Now."

Yes, that they could do. John nodded at the major, who nodded at his people and, without moving his eyes from the still form of the prince, lead everyone out.

When the heavy doors closed behind them, John valiantly refused when Richards offered his arm. He could do it, he wasn't made of glass, damnit!

"Told you, boss," Kowalski grinned as they were walking back Director's office. "Dangerous precedent."

"Tom?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Shut up, please."

"Yes'sir!"

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

It didn't take more than an hour for John to walk into the Control Centre and meet with more than a half of the female population of the Agency staring at the screen that showed feedback from Nuada's room.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

It took him even less to look over to agent Jordan and say "I told you so."

He did tell them not to waste equipment on bugging the bathroom.

Now all the girls were disappointed and they lost about half a grand on cameras and microphones.


	7. Chapter 7

Another chapter ready:) For all the fans of shirtless, wet elves _

XD

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><p>.<p>

.

They gave Nuada exactly eight hours to settle and, maybe, sleep off the last few days. John hoped that the prince appreciated it, because he didn't get any extra time to recover.

John spent next few hours in the library, sorting through the data on the Sidhe that professor Broom gathered during his lifetime. There wasn't much of it and even the bit that was available had been written in Celtic, so it was as good as useless to them at this point. He was just about to call his translator, but stopped in time to remember that normal people slept at this time and Siobhan was as normal as it came. That reminded John that he was also as normal as they came and dead also tired.

When did his life came to that, he wondered, pulling the covers over himself. He was a good boy, tried to be, in high school he was pretty great at soccer, in Quantico he was one of the better students... When did he step trough the mirror that landed him on the Strange side of Reality? Full of devil spawns, pyromaniacs and people who evolved from frogs.

And that were the Good Guys.

Bad guys were nothing short of a nightmare.

Falling asleep John wondered where did that left prince Nuada.

.

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><p>.<p>

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Tom Kowalski wasn't a morning person; and while it wasn't exactly a secret in the Agency, John was always surprised how different the man acted before lunchtime. As if someone swapped him with a dull and snarky body double. But John was nothing if not forgiving, so he returned the nodded 'Goodmonig' he was given and tilted his head in the direction of Nuada's room as if saying "shall we?".

His mind turning over the possible food list that the prince wouldn't scoff at, John was completely taken by surprise by two things.

First: the room was not trashed. That was the pleasant one.

Second: Apparently, in Nuada's case, casual clothing meant going shirtless. This was... unexpected.

Gone was the elaborate armour that covered the Sidhe over the last year and some; John spotted it on the table, laid out in a purposeful manner and a little more shiny that the day before. Nuada stood in the middle of the room in the same manner to the one they left him at, and John could be convinced that the he didn't even move an inch since that time.

But he had a proof, so...

God, the man... elf... creature?... he! Was build. John tired not to stare, but the expanse of white skin presented to him was quite the view and _oh, God, they will never unstuck the girls from the monitors now_. Nuada was muscular, but not in the way that Kowalski was, he was much shorter at that; no, the prince was quite lean, his skin was very smooth and ridiculously pale – he looked just like a marble Greek statue.

John mentally scowled at himself for this comparison. It felt too close to teenage fiction for his taste.

No, he wasn't really admiring. He was assessing. He was also instantly jealous and embarrassed by it. But mostly he was sighing in relief; Nuada seemed to be in good enough shape, psych evaluation should be a breeze.

"Good Morning, I hope you have slept well." John put on his concerned, caring personality like an old, worn sweater and pointed at the table. "If you want to have it cleaned, we have a very good..."

"No one is to touch my clothing," Nuada cut him off with a growl that carried a threat of bloodshed if not heed.

John raised his hands in an universal sign of 'cool down, man' before going back to being unobtrusive and complying.

"I will see that no one does," he promised. "On another note, I would be grateful if you came with us now. We have a few things to do before breakfast and I... oh, speaking about breakfast, it would be beneficial for everyone of you could tell me what exactly is that you eat or don't eat so we can avoid any possible food issues and allergies."

Nuada didn't stop scowling at him, but his eyes lost some of the anger in them. Now he looked at John as if the man was some disgusting, yet interesting kind of bug that crawled from under the floorboards. He didn't seem to pay any mind to Kowalski, who stood silently by the door with one hand at the holster.

"What are those 'things'?" Nuada asked, turning to fully face the shorter human. "And why is it you talking to me again, human?"

That caused John's back to stiffen and his attitude to turn even more _considerate_.

"John Myers," he reminded in his most cultured voice that he knew drove everyone even slightly military inclined crazy. "Due to the happenings outside of my authority to discuss, I was appointed to be your... liaison with the Agency for the time being. I am to see to your comfort and safety until you settle in, and offer advice on any subject you find confusing."

It took the prince exactly three seconds to decode this message for what it was.

"I don't need a _nanny_!" And the anger was back. Great.

John only shrugged.

"We're all here on the orders from... higher instance, you understand, prince. It is simply my job to show you around and explain the system within which we operate."

Oh God, was he stretching it. He could practically _hear_ Kowalski smirking at the back of his head.

Already he was being called _Nanny McMyers_ by the agents he's met at breakfast in the cafeteria. While it was better than 'Boyscout', he'd prefer to stay with the 'Librarian', thank you very much.

He squared his shoulders even more when the prince walked up to him, slow and steady: the picture of a prowling tiger. Nuada stopped two feet in front of John only because major Kowalski decided to unclip his holster in a very loud and threatening way – at least John has thought so; he's never heard a _click_ so decisive since that one time in Texas when a crazy warlock wanted to shoot him in the face.

That was his last field mission.

He concentrated on now and here, and why is the prince still looking at him like that? Why is the posing still going on, when he's clearly shown that he is no threat? John was not ashamed to lift his head to look into Nuada's eyes – which he knew, was an equivalent of baring his belly in a serious battle of wills.

So why the scrutiny?

And why won't Nuada put any shirt on? It was... distracting at least. All those scars on his arms and chest that looked rather closer to art than actual injuries. They flowed and twisted, and created actual patterns! Was it some kind of tribal markings? Would Nuada answer if he asked?

"Boss."

Major's voice broke the moment and John was left coughing to cover up his embarrassment. He was staring, not good.

"We have a scheduled meeting with a doctor in few minutes," he explained quickly. "We have to complete your file and that means getting your basic health status down. In case you get sick or injured..."

"If the enemy gets close enough to mortally wound me, you won't be able to do anything."

That was rather boastful... and probably very true. Still.

"I understand, but we still have to get it done. And doctor Feehney..."

"I won't let your _scientists_ poke at me!"

The way Nuada said the word '_scientists'_ spoke volumes about his high opinion of the occupation.

John was getting slightly frustrated with the way he was being cut off at every turn. Politeness was certainly not a part of the Royal package in this case.

"Doctor Feehney was assigned as your physician and we are to meet her in few minutes," this time his voice was a little strained. "Please, put a shirt on so we can go."

Nuada continued his staring right until John sighed in resignation and fought the urge to rub his temples.

"As you wish. Can we go now?"

He shouldn't be amused by the way Kowalski winked at him and lead the prince out of the room. He should absolutely not be amused by remembering how the day before Richards told him in amused tone 'I wonder what will take her to make him piss in the cup.'

Doctor Feehney was a strong willed woman. But Nuada was a stubborn bastard.

The next hour should be interesting.

.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

.

Of course, the moment John stepped into the medical wing, Fate decided to kick the ankles from under him again.

"So, Doctor Feehney I will leave Tom with you and come back when it's all over..."

"Stop right there, Myers."

John, unwillingly froze in the doorway. Julia Feehney was a slight, thin woman in her early fifties, motherly and frail looking – but her voice carried. Carried well.

"Yes?" John asked with a growing unease.

Kowalski smirked openly now and Nuada was looking unimpressed; he seemed be searching the room for any sharp objects without actually being seen doing so. Doctor Feehney stalked to John with a clipboard in hand and poked him right in the chest with it.

"Your last evaluation was nine months ago, agent Myers. You seem to avoid the place like a plague."

Oh God, what was it? Open season on his person?

"I am very busy, doctor, you know that. And it's not as if I run a high risk of injury working in the library," he tried to explain.

"You never know with those papercuts," doctor Feehney smiled and winked to him. And then her eyes did a strange little jump in the direction of the scowling Sidhe and back to John. "I would still appreciate if you let me get your test out of the way _first_."

And, oh, John understood then.

There was no way that the elderly doctor was risking her limbs by angering or surprising the deadliest warrior in the base. She wanted to show the prince that she was not going to crave him for science – show him on example. John was going to be that example.

His life was turning very strange very fast.

"Okay, okay," he didn't even have to pretend exasperation. "I'll go first, this way I can go and finish my own job faster."

"Atta boy!" Doctor Feehney reached up to poke him in the arm with her inherent pink biro. "Shirt off and get on the bed."

John wasn't even looking in the direction of the major or his new charge. It was all so ridiculous.

Of course Tom was not to be ignored.

"I suspected you're the undershirt kind of guy," he spoke with mirth when John was folding his suit jacket, tie and white shirt on the bed.

John fought the urge to flip him off. The reason he left his undershirt on – and the man has to know it – was that after Nuada's yesterday's little show his lower back was a map of bruises. He didn't want the doctor to see them, didn't want any questions and additional poking. He just wanted to get this over with and leave.

He suffered through the pressure sleeve on his arm and tried not to make a noise when the ice-cold end of the stethoscope landed accidentally on his left nipple. He hoped it was accidental. He felt himself blushing lightly when his throat was looked into and he saw from the corner of his eye how much attention Nuada was suddenly paying them.

Prince stood a few steps from them, arms folded in front of his chest, an air of impatience surrounding him; yellow eyes were watching doctor Feehney's movements with frightening intensity. Maybe he was aware that the same procedures were to be applied to him in a few minutes and searched for any kind of threat? Or maybe he's never seen human doctor and was simply interested? There was nothing to read from his face, but the way his attention was suddenly sharp and focused was a little bit... well, distressing.

Tom was having a ball, though.

"Shit, you have to eat more, boss," he said, leaning on the wall by the doors and trying not to smile too widely. "Less coffee and more actual food into you."

"I know, Tom."

"My Gran would've shed fucking' tears over you, you know? I can see your ribs from here."

"I know, Tom."

"Pity she's left us. I bet she would love to stuff you with pierogis and homemade bread with her homemade marmalade. You need some marmalade on your toasts, boss. And put some goddamn sugar in your coffee once in a while."

"Tom..."

"I tend to agree with the major," doctor Feehney admitted with a twinkle in her eye. "Your last blood test has shown very low sugar. And Kowalski has a point, you have to start taking better care of yourself. Now, show me your other ear."

How could he fight with both of them? And in front of the prince, no less. Was it too much to wish for someone to take him seriously him once in a while?

Nuada stood still as the doctor checked her patient's ears and shined tiny light into his eyes. He shifted a tiny bit only when the woman picked up a syringe and fitted the needle on it. His eyes narrowed and his arms tensed.

When John felt the prick of the needle entering his vein he's heard something like a hiss from the direction of the prince. When he looked over, question forming on his lips, Nuada looked away muttering something that sounded vaguely like '_barbarians_.'

Well, yeah, he could admit that the situation could seem a little weird for the Other Kin. Blood was an important matter to them _magically_-wise so the view of it being pulled so casually might even distress the prince in some way.

He really had to catch up on his research.

"You're all done, honey," doctor Feehney patted his arm and shooed him off the bed. "You can go back to your cave for another three months. " She put the capsule with the blood into the little box and disposed of the syringe. Then she turned to Nuada. "Your turn, please. The procedure is the same. If you could sit here..."

She didn't get to finish. Doctor's voice trailed away when the prince suddenly materialised before her and, towering over the poor woman, reached out with one hand; the other still folded over his chest.

John was startled to see that the fingers of the outreaching hand were much darker than they were before and... oh, it was a very dark red.

"That's all the blood you will get from me." Nuada spoke, his voice perfectly level and brooking no argument. "No metal goes into my veins."

Right. They didn't think of that, did they? Well, still, it was somewhat creepy.

And how he managed to hurt himself without any of them noticing?

John wondered, but the doctor didn't. She pulled herself together surprisingly fast and it took her only a second to gently gather the few droplets of very dark blood into a little glass vial; the rest she patted with a cotton swab. By the time they were labelled and put away into the cool cupboard, John was already dressed and on his way to the door.

"Call me when you're finished with everything," he told the major.

"Yes'sir! Go get a fuckin' steak, sir!" was his answer.

Sometimes he really missed Antarctica.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

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He didn't see the prince again until late afternoon. After the physical evaluation there was a scheduled session at the gym meant to observe Nuada's fighting abilities. John had no business there, he was a caretaker not a trainer, so he used the time he wasn't needed to get something to eat and research some more. He expected to find something that would tell him what he can safely give his charge to eat, but the archives were giving him nothing on the subject.

Sidhe diet wasn't the most pressing concern in the late professor's mind, apparently. A gross overlook.

John made sure that the fridge they installed in Nuada's quarters has an assortment of water, juices, fresh fruits and vegetables, but, as far as he was aware, besides one bottle of mineral water, they were left untouched. It distressed him on some level; that part of him used to caring for someone eating for five people was fretting over the fact that the prince haven't eaten anything in over a year. Of course, being a stone statue probably meant that he didn't need nutrition trough most of that time, but he was very much alive for the last three days now and it was just impossible for him not to feel hungry.

John was slowly panicking. What if their new shiny fighter decided to starve himself to death just to be contrary? His behaviour since awakening seemed to support that suspicion. Nuada was a stubborn bastard and it wasn't a stretch to think that he'd prefer an actual death to serving... working with humans.

That's why John spent the last twenty minutes waiting at the door to Nuada's room, waiting for the major to bring his charge back. Hopefully not worse for wear.

When they showed up in the corridor, he sighed with relief. No one seemed seriously hurt, but Kowalski's step was a little stiff and following behind Richards and Anderson were as close to flaggerbasterred as John has ever seen them. Damn, he could almost see the little stars in their eyes and floating over their heads.

"I take it went well?" he asked as Nuada walked past him into the room without even a glance. But he seemed... satisfied. In a scary and unsettling way. "Tom?"

The major stopped in front of the heavy steel door and smiled. A very real, very wide and very white smile. Sharks smiled like that, or lions.

"He's a professional asskicker if I've ever fuckin' seen one," he said, clapping John on the arm. "He moves like... fucking Hell, I can't wait to see him in a proper fucking action!"

And that was a high praise indeed from this man.

"Any difficulties?" John wanted to make sure. "Was he behaving?"

"He's a badass," stated Kowalski, as if that was supposed to explain everything. "But he likes to show off. Beside not saying one fuckin' word, he was polite enough."

'Polite' probably meant that he didn't kick anyone in the face more than twice. Kowalski had his own brand of savoir vivre.

"I'm happy to hear that. From this point on I will take over," John nodded at the three soldiers. He tried not to pay attention to the worried looks they shared between themselves and continued in his normal, cheerful manner. "There's a lot of briefing to be done. You can go and grab something to eat. And make sure that Anderson gets some ice for that eye, okay?"

He turned around and went into the room trying to look less nervous than he actually felt.

From this point on he was on his own; Nuada turned out to be compliant enough and it didn't seem as if he was going to go on a killing spree. The Director seemed convinced that they could feel safe. John tried to feel safe many times in his career now, it rarely worked.

Nuada was not in the main part of his quarters. John let the door close behind him and breathed out. He looked around the corner to the bedroom area, but it was also empty. It left only the bathroom, and, as if on cue, the sound of running water was heard from that direction. Oh, of course, the prince would like to shower after a few hour-long of a workout. How stupid not to expect that.

He should go and come back later. Maybe he could even get to grab a short nap? He didn't sleep well, his back deciding to torment him, and woke up all stiff and in pain.

Instead, John decided to stay. For a minute he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, before he decided that he was acting ridiculous and it was probably safe to sit by the table. What he forgot about was the new use the table seemingly acquired since yesterday.

The armour was untouched. Still laid out like an exhibit in the museum lacking only a glass panel to separate it from the grabby hands of the audience. John could not help, but stare at the thing.

It was intricate and complicated; obviously a lot of practice was required to put it on and simply remember which piece goes where. It was as much a piece of art as it was a masterpiece of workmanship. Every bit that could be decorated, was, but there was also no elements that seemed to serve as just a decoration. Everything came together perfectly as completely utilitarian and completely magnificent whole.

It was a shame to leave it like that on a cheap wooden table, John surmised. They'll have to get some kind of a rack for it, or a special case, or a mannequin...

Oh damn, was it gold?

A case then. Case with two locks and crack-proof glass.

Who went to fight decorated with gold?

Somewhat John knew that reaching out wasn't a good idea the moment his right hand moved.

And he was proved right one second later when said hand was grabbed into a brutal hold and twisted, his whole arm wrenched back, body trying to follow it clumsily. It took him few shaky steps to get his equilibrium back and convince his heart that they're not dead yet, before he managed to turn around and look at the Sidhe standing between him and the table.

John didn't even hear the bathroom door opening, not even one footstep betrayed the elf, and it made him momentarily freeze in fear. This new assignment was seriously not good for his health.

Nor were Nuada'a golden eyes staring at him from that stone cold face. The prince was wet and dripping water on the floor, dressed only in a pair of black trousers, barefooted. He should be looking ridiculous.

Instead he looked terrifying.

"I told you that no one is to touch my belongings," it was more of a growl than a voice.

Lowering his eyes, John instantly felt ashamed of his childish curiosity. 'Look with your eyes not your hands' uncle Ted told him often enough.

"I apologise," he said quickly. Best to change the subject, fast. "You will need some case for it, won't you? Or a frame. If you give me specifications I can order one to be delivered to the base by the next week."

"Why are you here?"

Straight to the point and hostile to boot.

Oh, this will be fun.

"As I explained already, I am your liaison. I can answer all your questions and show you around the base, but I also have a few questions of my own."

Keep it professional, Myers, keep it simple. You have cameras in every corner of the room, boys from the MC won't let him kill you.

"Questions," repeated Nuada, someway making it sound like '_you amuse me, insect_.'

"Yes, just a few for the start," John tried to keep his hands steady as he reached for his notebook and a pen. "Are you hungry?"

That seemed to take the elf by surprise, which was good, very good.

"You keep asking me that. Why?"

And now he was interested, even better. Everything was better than that cold hostility.

"One of my duties is making sure that you're clothed, rested and not starving. It has been a while since your last meal, I imagine, and you have to be hungry. As you work for the B.P.R.D. now, it would..."

This time John interrupted himself. He wasn't even annoyed, because the look Nuada levelled at him was nothing less than deadly.

"I do not '_work'_ for you, mortal scum!" The words were very quiet and very deliberate, but something hot and dark was boiling right underneath them. "I do not '_serve'_ you. I do not '_help'_ you. I am bound by Her to fix my mistakes, _nothing more_. I will honour Her will by not killing you, but make no mistake, weakling, I am not '_on your side'_."

The confession was chilling in how true it was. John tried not to think about it, but from the beginning the was aware that the only thing keeping the prince from murdering them all was Her will and his own bloody sense of honour. There was nothing said about what will happen when all the 'evil' are defeated and the world goes back to normal.

But strangely, this knowledge also helped him to store the fear away. Right now, he was safe. Nuada could bark, he could even bite, but he won't reach for his throat. Right now was important, focus on that, John.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he managed to say, his voice close to whisper.

But he couldn't stop an instinctive flinch when Nuada stepped forward, moving is hands in wide arches in a gesture than encompassed the room and, probably, all of the base.

"This is my _prison_, no matter how you word it, human. Have no choice but to stay here."

_That makes two of us,_ John thought bitterly. _You have your Mother of All, I have Director Hart._

_You got off easily._

"It doesn't mean we will treat you like a prisoner," he answered.

Nuada snarled and stalked away to the other end of the room, dripping water from his hair, his bare feet leaving a wet trail on the dark tile.

"Go away!" he snapped sharply. "I have no patience for your stupidity."

"I need to know how can I not poison you, prince," John tried to insist gently.

One golden eye looked at him with anger and amusement over Nuada's pale shoulder.

"If you can bake me a golden boar in heather juice, or serve me wine made of mountain snow, then go ahead. If not, I will continue fasting."

"But there has to be something, that we can..."

John was, again, interrupted, but this time it was his mobile. The company's mobile, to be clear. He sighed with exasperation and turned away from the prince, picking it up. The courtesy was probably lost on the Sidhe, but any barrier between them would do now.

"Yes, Myers." He spoke raising the phone to his ear.

"_Thank God, come over here!"_ the voice on the other end sounded nervous and familiar.

"Dave, is that you?"

"_Yeah.. yes. Yes. John, could you pop into the kitchen? Now?_"

"I am a bit busy at the moment..."

"_John, now! They want you and I have no clue how to... Just come over, please!"_

They?

"_Have to go..."_

"Dave, what they? Dave? Dave!"

Connection ended making John instantly worried. He pocketed the phone, turned to the prince and found himself in the direct line of his stare. It made him flinch, but not much, at the moment he was more concerned about whatever mess awaited him in the kitchen to sort out.

"I will be back in few minutes," he assured, punching the code at the panel by the door. "Then we will finish."

"There's nothing to finish," were Nuada's parting words.

John would give everything for it to be true.

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><p>Sorry for the cliffie. Seems that I am unable to write in any other way=_=<p>

Thnk you all for the fab reviews, guys*_* They make me want to try and write every piece faster!

As to Hellboy and the Co. coming back to BPRD, I have no plans of including them... yet. Yes, this thing is a monster of epic proportions and it will take some time to get everything I have planned for poor John down:D


	8. Chapter 8

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Heather juice, as it turned out, was unpalatable. After just one sip John was pretty sure that he's never in his life tasted anything like it. It was like... there was no comparison. It was just foul.

However, wine made of mountain snow was, surprisingly, very good. It didn't really taste like wine, nor like water... it didn't really had a 'taste' so to speak. It was more of a feeling, an impression of cold and cleanness, and freshness on his tongue that left him slightly dizzy and very relaxed.

Golden boar was really gold. Dave, the main chef, was fascinated by the quality of the meat that for all aims and purposes was a rich, hearty red – but, when turned under the light, took on a golden sheen.

John wanted to try it too, but the presence of the damned heather juice made him reconsider. Although the smell was incredible and managed to turn quite a few heads in the corridors when he transported the unearthly dishes.

And it certainly managed to turn the head of one prissy prince when John pushed the dinner trolley into his quarters.

Nuada didn't ask, but his nostrils flared and his eyes zeroed on the glassware, eyebrows inching together. John fought off the smile that threatened to take over his face.

"I know it's way after lunch, but I guess we can compromise on an early dinner," he said, locking the trolley in place and going around it to handle the plates. The table was empty now, the armour nowhere to be seen, so he could safely move the dishes there. "If you're used to different mealtimes, please, don't hesitate to tell me."

And okay, he was nervous. Especially since Nuada was staring at him as if John has managed to grow a second head since they've last seen each other, barely two hours ago. The prince did not move from the spot, following human's movements with his eyes only.

He was still shirtless.

"What is this?" he asked only when all the dishes were on the table.

"Your dinner," John reached for his tiny notebook and pretended to read from it, face completely straight. "Golden boar roasted with heather juice, served with wine made of mountain snow, if I remember correctly. Sorry it took so long to prepare, I hope it's up to your standard."

It would not do to call Nuada flaggerbastered. Mainly because his face didn't as much as twitch. But his eyes said volumes.

He approached the table slowly, regal and threatening in every step and cautiously reached for the biggest plate, lifting the cover from it. Smell of roasted meat and heather filled the air in seconds, causing John to step back and breathe through his mouth. God, he'll never forget the taste of this thing.

Nuada seemed mesmerised, though. He looked at the meat, then at the carafe standing on the side. He uncorked it and took a careful sniff of the silverfish liquid inside and his eyes seemed to close at their own volition. For a moment he just stood there, pose relaxed and face full of such wonder that John had to turn his eyes away, feeling awkward for witnessing it.

He rather hoped it will go better than his previous interactions with the prince, but he didn't expect it to go that well.

"How did you do it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How did you do it?" Nuada repeated, impatient, settling the carafe back on the table. "Where did you get it from, human?"

"We have very skilled cooks in this place," answered John honestly.

Yes, since today. And he was not explaining this one to the Sidhe. No chance.

"I will leave you to it, then," he pocketed the notebook and got a hang of the trolley, pushing it toward the door. "In an hour someone will come over to take the dishes back, please don't kill them. Enjoy your meal, prince."

"You keep calling me that. Why?"

That stopped John mid-step. He turned his head and again, met those yellow eyes. They were still looking at him with animosity, but there was enough curiosity to temper it considerably.

"You are a prince, aren't you?" he answered with the question.

"Not anymore."

Oh, yeah, dead. Easy to forget in this line of work.

"But you were," said John, quietly serious. "I think it's a good thing to remember. If it bothers you, I will stop."

He decided that the snort in response means '_do as you like'_ so he will do exactly that.

"Thank you, boys."

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><p>.<p>

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"Did he like it, mister Myers?"

"Was he happy, John?"

"...he looked... dumbfounded."

"**Oooh!**"

"So I guess it went well. Yes, Dave?"

"Director wants to see you. Now."

"Oh."

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><p>.<p>

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In the end explaining to Hart where the exotic dishes for their 'special guest' came from was not that hard as John has feared. There was, of course, a lot of eyebrow raising and contemplative looks that made him feel like a dunce, but it went – well. Better than it could.

It was enough to mention his complete bewilderment when he stepped into the kitchen...

"_Oh, hi, John!"_

"_Hello, mister Myers." _

"_Boys?" _

_John couldn't believe his eyes. After rather distressing call from Dave –two tiny creatures standing proudly on the counter with their shiny eyes, tiny hats and funky boots were the last thing he expected to see in the kitchen. _

_Dave, the chef, stood pale and confused on the other end of the room, his eyes dancing from the elves to John and back. He was a stout man, if not very tall, but friendly and energetic – right now he reminded John of a scared rabbit. _

"_I didn't know what to do!" He whispered loudly, quickly. "They just appeared and demanded to see you! I didn't know..."_

"_Calm down, Dave, they're with me."Just as he said those words John realised how that put him at risk. Knowing about Other Kin was one thing, visiting them could be forgiven, but _inviting_ them to the base was generally frowned upon. It often turned very messy very quickly . But he didn't invite the little ones, so it meant that something serious has happened. "Is everything alright in the bakery? Do you need help?"_

"_The bakery is alright!" assured him Tak._

"_And it's you who need our help, mister Myers!" added Tik._

"_I do? What kind of help?" _

"_**With him!**__" they shouted at once before going back to their usual pattern of taking turns at speaking. _

"_He is probably very hungry..."_

"_...after such a long nap..."_

"_...and you can't make him food..."_

"_...because Sidhe eat differently from humans..."_

"_...which is a pity, because your buns are very good..."_

"_...and Mom said that you are so very good to us, mister Myers..."_

"_...that we should help you, John..."_

"_...because we know how to make food for Sidhe!" _

_John couldn't believe his ears. It was just too... convenient. His life was never this convenient. There had to be the hook somewhere..._

"_You want to stay here?" Dave all but squealed; which made him blush in mortification and slump on the nearest stool. _

"_Of course!" the elves squealed back at him. _

_...and there it was. Thank God, he could breathe out._

"_Of course, if John wants to..." _

"_...we can stay and make food..."_

"_...we don't take much space, John knows..."_

"_...and we don't take much in exchange, only one bun every month..."_

"_...and some milk..."_

"_...we can find a place to sleep on our own..."_

"_...and you'll never even know we're here!"_

"_Right, mister Myers?" Tik turned back to him, and his brother followed suit. _

"_Right, John?" _

_What could he do when confronted with two pairs of shiny opalescent eyes set in two cute faces? _

"_I have nothing against," his answer was diplomatic enough. "But don't be hasty. I can't take this decision without Dave, you see, he's the master of this kitchen and has to agree to everything. You can't scare him like that." _

_In a blink of an eye two opalescent stares moved to the stunned cook._

"_We won't do it ever again!" promised Tak._

"_He won't even know we're here!" assured Tik._

"_We will help him with the bugs, just like in the bakery..." _

"_...and we'll make sure that the dough doesn't dry up..."_

"_...and that milk stays fresh..."_

"_...yes, mister Myers?"_

"_Yes, John?" _

_John looked at Dave with his best puppy dog impression._

"_Yes, Dave?" _

_Dave sighed and rubbed his red face with both hands. He was a smart man, very down to earth, used to dealings with Kowalski 's merry group of cavemen and Jordan's nerd herd. What difference would it make for him to have two Other Kin hiding between the pans? _

"_Okay, yes," he finally agreed. "Yes, whatever... just, yes." _

_Tik and Tak jumped in glee - impressive three inches above the counter. _

"_Thanks, John!" shouted Tak. _

"_Thank you, mister Myers!" shouted Tik. _

"_Thank you, Dave," said John. _

_Dave flipped him off._

So yeah, that was it, in short. John didn't _promise_ anything, didn't _invite_ the little ones into the base to stay – there was no contract in place. They could ask them to leave anytime and the brothers would listen. Had to listen.

But why do so when they were useful? No one knew how to get a hang of the stuff that was necessary to cook for Sidhe. Sidhe in question wasn't very helpful also, so it was just common sense, really, to accept help when it was being offered.

At the price of a fresh bun every month and few cups of milk they've got two highly specialised cooks, with a pest control thrown in as a bonus – it was a bargain, really.

John just had to make sure that the Director sees it this way.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

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After that, the days started falling in a sort of steady, if somewhat scary, pattern.

John woke up with the sun to serve his charge breakfast, spent few minutes asking questions and being ignored, then went to the Control Room for the newest updates, visited Research Department before settling in the Library to get on with his reports/updating the archives.

Meanwhile, Nuada was trusted to major Kowalski, who walked him to the gym for a warm up and another session of getting back to form.

Every time John brought lunch to the room, the prince demanded his weapons be returned to him. Every time John's answer was the same:

" It's outside of my authority, I am sorry."

He wasn't sorry, not in the slightest. Especially that Nuada's manner never changed, his voice stayed snappish and his cold looks cut to the bone. He also continued ignoring the existence shirts in the dresser and walked around shirtless.

But he ate, which was good. And didn't kill anyone yet, which was very good in John's book. And Kowalski assured that the his form is improving dramatically fast, so it won't be long before they start sending him out on assignments.

Tik and Tak were ecstatic with their culinary efforts being well received and seemed happy living in B.P.R.D.'s kitchen; they even managed to befriend Dave.

After two weeks of this routine John was almost sure he could live with it. Director was happy with him, Kowalski found himself a new pet project and girls from the MCC stopped offering him money for naked photos of the prince. He was slightly less terrified of his charge than he was at the beginning, and it calmed him down a little. Yeah, he could do this, it wasn't that bad overall.

Which meant, that something had to give.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

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It took another week before Nuada was finally released from the quarantine. Another week of tense atmosphere in the Agency and golden eyes trailing after John every time he stepped into the prince's quarters.

The rooms changed in that time – which was something no one could explain. The light bulbs were the same, all of them worked fine, but the place now seemed darker than before. Oak panels on the walls, previously warm brown, were almost black now and looked kind of... damp.

Nuada was getting restless and it seemed that his closest surroundings started to reflect his mood.

John was no closer to the light in his research than he was three weeks ago. There just wasn't enough information on Sidhe in the Library or databases. None at all. As if someone went through all the files and archives and wiped it from existence.

There was a distressing possibility of that person being Abe, but John tried not to think about it. Itchyio Sapien was his friend during the short time they've got to know one another, and the younger agent always respected him. Abe was the only one that didn't dislike him on the spot and always made him feel welcome in the Agency, offering advice and encouragement when necessary.

Thinking of that kind man loosing the love of his life in such a painful manner was unbearable. It made John regret not fighting the transfer harder, not being there for his friend when he needed help. Even if he couldn't help – he was only human, after all – he wanted to be present. The least he could do was to offer a shoulder to cry on and Abe surely needed _that_. Hellboy was a good man, but his brand of comfort left much to wish for.

"Where are you getting my food from, human?"

"My name is John Myers, and I can't answer your question."

Nuada regarded him with his usual cold disdain which always made John feel all warm and cuddly inside. Not. He almost got used to it so his hands shook only a little when he was gathering dishes left after breakfast and stacking them on the trolley.

"Aren't you here to 'answer my questions'?" the prince ventured, his tone sly. "Isn't it what you told me?"

"I can only answer questions I am authorised to, I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that. You are not sorry at all, so why not stop?"

Oh. It seemed like a longer conversation was afoot. Which was unusual with the Sidhe, but not entirely unwelcome. John desperately needed information about his charge, something that went beyond his blood test results (completely unprecedented, those) and favourite dishes.

" It's called 'courtesy'," he answered, honestly this time. "And I truly regret that you're being kept in the dark."

He truly did. It made his job all the harder.

But the knowledge about food was one of the very few things that kept Nuada cautious, so John couldn't let it go, not yet. He needed something to hold over his head.

"You mortals find the most curious ways to lie about your true intentions," sneered Nuada. And then he changed the subject before the mortal in front of him opened his mouth to deny. "Where is your horned warrior?" he asked. "I haven't seen him yet."

That wasn't the question John wanted to hear now.

"He's on the ... paternity leave," he lied calmly; at least aiming for it. "Long holiday."

"And his mate? The fire witch?"

"She's the mom in question. They went together."

It was not what he wanted to discuss!

"And the frog?"

"Don't call him that!" Suddenly John found himself bent over the table, palms pressed to the wood, eye to eye with the sitting Sidhe. How did he get there? "He's name is Abraham, and he's also absent. "

Golden eyes regarded him with a spark of curiosity and John felt stupid instantly. God, he was slipping, to lose control so easily! Entirely unprofessional; Abe would be disappointed.

"I'm sorry," he straightened up and nervously adjusted the sleeves of his jacket. "Please, continue your meal, prince, I will go now. Tomorrow..."

The howl of the alarm didn't let him finish.

Nuada was out of his chair and ready to fight in a blink; his eyes darted to the light blinking over the door, brows pulled together in annoyance (or maybe pain, after all his hearing was so much better than human's); his hand closed on the closest projectile available...

"No, wait!"

...and the light sopped blinking – taken out by a well thrown plate.

"I told you not to break it!"

"What is this racket, human?"

John was saved from the explanation by the arrival of major Kowalski who stopped in the doorway looking indecently happy. Almost giddy."Mission, boss!" he crowed. "The elf is allowed out. Fucking finally! We have another infestation of rats in the park! Come on, kids!" And then he was gone.

John barely managed to make a step before he was grabbed by the arm and pushed at the door.

"Get me my weapons, now!" barked Nuada, going to the cupboard where his armour has been stored.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

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The thing about werewolves was that they've had an annoying habit of living in packs. Pretty big, very well structured packs led by a very intelligent alpha pair.

Those were the packs that B.P.R.D. left alone. Those that lived in Himalayas or Ireland, or in Australia, or even Siberia – places where hiding a pack of big, hungry shape shifters wasn't that much of a struggle. Places where food could be hunted and killed, and wasn't bipedal. Places that humans stayed away from.

These were the 'proper' werewolves, in the Agency's view (strongly influenced by late professor's views that John was doing his best to cultivate), a separate race born to hunt and change with the moon, old as the world itself. There wasn't many packs running free nowadays, the exact number unknown. Evolution did its work not only on humans, new alphas were much smarter and sneakier than their ancestors; they knew that the only way for their families to survive was to stay as far away as possible from human attention. To stay in myths and stories, and fairytales.

They adjusted. No wars, no victims, no changed people. There was no honour in killing a weak, fangless, bipedal creature.

And, besides that, humans apparently tasted foul.

Those were the werewolves that John would love to meet and document one day. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to believe that he would be let alive to do it, but everyone needed a dream.

Then, there was this other kind of werewolves.

The changed ones.

People bitten by the born werewolves , infected with their 'curse'. They changed during the full moon, shedding their human skin and taking on a new form.

They were mostly harmless. Scared of their own condition, they usually tried to contain their second nature as much as possible. Of course there were those who delighted in the freedom it offered on those rare nights when the moon was out. Violent people, who didn't mind causing havoc and death; some of them were less than sane. These ones were dealt with swiftly and efficiently by Kowalski and his men – delivered to justice and punishment for their crimes.

Those two groups were on the Agency's list, closely watched and documented whenever chance allowed, but not actively hunted.

The real trouble began when they happened to crossbreed.

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><p>Thank you for all great reviews^^ I haven't yet mastered the skill of answering them_ Yeah, I am a knob<p>

Concerning the Angst in the warnings - I don't plan a sad ending to this, on the contrary. But, well, Nuada is not in an easy situation and John soon will have it even 'worse' so there will be a lot of whining and suffering. But it will all turn out well in the end^^

I have yet not decided on amount of slash there will be. They may end up as lovers, or may not - but they will definitely end up as a pair of sort _

Rain in The Dark - Yeah, I agree with you on John being pretty presistent; I feel that this can be his only real strenght/advantage in this setting. Physically he's pretty much useless against Nuada so he puts his money into the 'caring and harmless' aspect of his. Being as untreathening as possible is making it virtually impossible for the prince to attack him - Nuada IS a royal and attacking someone weak and aware of it would be a slight to his own honour. No matter how he would like to shut the damn human up sometimesXD And no matter how much turmoil John's mind goes trough, "keep calm and carry on" is his survival mantraXD


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't know what I'm doing here," John murmured to himself.

"Adventure called, boss!" answered Kowalski, who of course heard him. A hearty backslap accompanied the statement.

John swallowed his lungs back into the chest before shooting a scalding glare at the major. He knew that the man is aware of his own strength and didn't appreciate being assaulted like this. It hurt!

"Don't look at me like that, Johnny," Kowalski had the nerve to roll his eyes. "Dealing with the elf princess made me pretty much immune to glaring. He glares like a fucking pro!"

Yes, that John had to admit, Nuada could tell a story of murder without opening his mouth once; it was enough for him to just look at someone. Sadly, in most instances, that 'someone' was his ill-fated caretaker.

"I have no clue how you made him speak to you, boss, but I am not envious. He is creepy enough without saying one word."

No, John wasn't curious himself. Truth to be told, talking to Nuada was unhealthy and he honestly tried to cut down on it. Less questions he asked, less antagonism he had to deal with – which still wasn't much, but then it never was. Nuada just had a rotten character and his caretaker had a sad suspicion that nothing could be done about it.

"Just stay in the car and my men will deal with everything. You will leave without one scratch on you, boss!" Kowalski assured him cheerily.

Which had an unfortunate effect of not calming the man in question at all; the opposite, frankly. He wasn't a helpless child, damnit! He was a trained agent just like the men and women surrounding him!

He didn't want to go on field missions like this one because he just wasn't good enough. John was neither afraid to admit it, nor ashamed, he was just human and so didn't want to stupidly risk his life. Of course he didn't want other agents risking theirs, but he knew where his strength has laid and utilised it to its' fullest –helping others conduct missions in the safest manner possible and bringing them home safely. Risking his life without a reason has meant risking lives of all the agents that relied on his knowledge.

There, a waste of resources – that's what his death would have been.

And that thought didn't hurt as much as it should.

But it also didn't mean that John was unable to defend himself when push came to shove. As far as he was concerned, him and Kowalski had the same chances against today's enemy. Well, almost the same chances.

_Okay_, he had about 30% less chance of survival compared to the major. Damn it!

Kowalski had to read his thoughts somehow, because any trace of humour suddenly evaporated from his expression. He stepped closer and leaned over John, forcing him to rise his head so he could look into the towering man's serious face.

"I mean it, boss, stay in the fucking car," Tom's voice had the texture of gravel. "We will take the head to lure the damn rats out and then the princess will deal with them. Simple and clean, no worries, he's good enough."

"That's why I don't understand why am I even here!" John tried to keep his composure, but it was slipping fast confronted with the full force of Kowalski's protective streak. If Nuada could scare the living crap out of people because he hated them, major could do the same using genuine concern. "I could do the same thing from the base!"

There was literally no need for him to join the squad and drive to Shelton for hours in the middle of the night. In January.

"Director's orders," was Kowalski's only answer. "You are the only one who can deal with the elf, boss."

"I can't _'deal'_ with him!" John lowered his voice, suddenly aware that the prince was just a dozen yards behind them, standing on the edge of the forest and probably hearing every word. Not to mention the rest of the squad that was standing even closer ."No one can 'deal' with him. That he didn't kill me yet doesn't mean..."

"You're the only one he speaks to. You have the best chance of talking him down if he gets any fucked up ideas into his white head."

This was really not like that. He was just a human, the most he's ever done with Nuada was intriguing him on few rare occasions. Most of the time his presence simply annoyed the prince.

"I would feel better if I knew you're not trusting my magical inter-racial communication skills this much, Tom" he admitted, rubbing his face tiredly.

"Of course I trust you, boss," major's voice was jovial again. "Everyone knows how likable you are! Give the princess time, soon he will be following you like a fucking kitten!"

"Tom..."

"I mean, you even managed to befriend the Big Red, so... uhm. _Fuck_. Sorry."

John tired to keep his gaze up, he really did, but it wasn't an easy feat.

"Yeah," he could only chuckle mirthlessly in response. "And look where it got me."

Kowalski looked like he considered hugging him or patting him on the head or some other mushy emotional response they've had no time for, so John stepped back and leaned on the side of the SUV that was parked behind him. He was a grown up, damn it, he could deal with loss! He know how to deal with loss since he was ten years old, this should be easy!

Even if losing a family was not any easier the second time around.

"I will stay here," he promised, voice strong and back straight. "Radio will be switched on all the time, so report to me whenever something happens, okay? If I am to track this madness and write a proper report of it, I have to have all the information."

"Right, boss, will do." Major reached out to squeeze shorter man's shoulder and stepped back, habitually checking his weapons: semi-automatic on one hip and a very long knife on the other. Then he turned to the agents gathered nearby with a hearty: "Okay, girls, radios ON and let's fuck these bitches up!"

John tried not to smile, but failed. Trust Tom to bring bad telly slang to the battlefield.

The smile froze on his face, however, a second later when a stone-cold hand rested on his arm and _squeezed_. A very well known hand, very pale and adorned with white claw-like nails.

"If he calls me a '_princess'_ one more time, I will rip out his liver and feed it to the crows. While he watches."

Paralysed by fear, John was unable to answer; his breath seemed to stop until Nuada let his arm go and left to join the squad.

It took John quite a few minutes to realise that the Sidhe put his hand in the exact same spot Kowalski did so earlier.

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><p>.<p>

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The problem with werewolves, in John's opinion, was that their pack structures for the most part were so well defined and tight, that when something went out of whack it was always a surprise; and usually not a nice one.

Because of the generally small population living on the continent, the gene pool was rather small and that led to problems every once in a while. Original werewolves weren't stupid; they knew the dangers it presented to their race and took pains to avoid them if possible. Like it happened in the nature, the adolescents were often chased away from the packs to find mates that were not related to them and present the world with a fresh mix of blood. Taking into account the longevity of the creatures and their slow reproduction rate, additionally restricted by the rule that only allowed the alpha pair to breed – the plan was sound and seemed to work okay. No crazed, inbred packs running around unsupervised, no insanity and no monsters. So far, so good.

Unless the travelling lonely adolescent happened to stumble upon a wondering lonely werewolf that for the rest of the month was a human.

The chance of that was very small. The chance of that happening in the mating season was even smaller. The chance of those two being of opposite sexes was so small it was almost impossible.

Almost.

But not entirely. And that was the problem that nature couldn't seem to know how to solve. Other forces came into play here and the outcome was almost always tragic.

Professor Bruttenholm had a theory that the original werewolves were Other Kin that at some point in their history learned to change their shape and mimic humans. Since they displayed all the signs of being completely removed from human's genealogy it was easy to believe. They were natural – in the wider sense of the word that included the Other Side as a vital part of reality.

Now, changed humans were completely different matter. For one thing – they were humans. No natural cause took part in their final struggle that was caused entirely by the forces that went beyond any scientific explanations. Simply put, it was a curse. As unnatural as most of the things humans called to their world trough stupidity and ignorance; to the point where the reality itself seemed to reject those incidents.

The suicide rate amongst shape shifters created by the bite was startlingly high. With every change being painful and grisly, with two natures fighting each other in the body that was designed for just one, afraid and alone – it was not hard to imagine how easy it was to lose all hope.

John felt for them. Every time a case rolled around that had to do with this kind of situation, he felt a little bit sick and horrified. Also, very, very angry on the behalf of another poor soul who was cursed with that farce of a life. And every time he put all of his skills into finding the bastard responsible for it.

But the situation was even worse when two species crossed. Born werewolves were bigger and stronger than any changed human, and they were merciless towards the 'mongrels'. Professor suspected a natural imperative to protect one's territory from the potential enemies was at play there, but John was more sober in his conclusions. Born wolves had to feel in some way that the changed ones were unnatural and inferior; like diseased animals, they simply had to be removed.

But sometimes the need to mate was stronger – especially amongst young males that wandered for too long on their own.

As far as John knew, not one mother has ever survived resulting pregnancy. And the creatures that were the product of it were to blame for that. Because black magic and nature didn't mix, the thing that came of the union of both was a twisted, dark and crazy.

True monsters in every sense of the word.

Operational squads called them 'rats' and within a good reason – they were just as '_easy'_ to exterminate and just as quick to reproduce. And they looked kind of similar. If rats were about three feet tall, less intelligent and had jaws that could easily bite trough a bear's throat.

"Rats" lived in packs that moved around often, so it was not easy to track them down. If they happened to invade the territory of a local wild pack, the werewolves took care of them quickly and mercilessly. Otherwise, it was left to the Agency to find them before any human causalities came to attention.

When they did appear in the radars Kowalski and his people were on the move within minutes.

So many times John wanted to tell the major that revenge won't bring anyone back, but the words never managed to push past his tightening throat. Some things were better left unspoken.

And it's not like he could complain – if not for the damn rats, Tom Kowalski would never join B.P.R.D. Selfish as it was, John couldn't bring himself to regret it.

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><p>.<p>

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The forest wasn't dark. The trees were tall and sparse, little of the undergrowth got in the way of moonlight that covered the frozen ground in a silver sheen. The air was crisp and cold; it smelled clean and alive. Pine needles crunched under the feet of the men walking behind him – they were making more noise than a pack of wild boars even when they tried to be stealthy. Useless bags of meat.

Necessity of bearing their presence was wearing Nuada's nerves thin as much as the silent forest around him tried to soothe them. It was a startling realisation, that the nature would reach out for him with such eagerness now. He'd rather expected to be treated like some kind of a pariah at this point, unnatural being that didn't belong anywhere. He was dead for more than one season, after all.

He was alive now, yes, but as a being with only half of his heart – a fact that he didn't want to think about too often.

And yet the forest sang to him like never before. He wasn't a tree-lover, never has been, always preferring the cool darkness and privacy that underground gave him. Caves and labyrinths – they were his kingdom in exile.

Moonlight showed him the way as he passed near a tree inhabited by the Kin; the prince could feel their eyes following his passage. Curious and alert, but not hostile. Did they know why he was there? Were they all aware of his new mission?

To fix the wrong he's caused.

One more reason to feel humbled by the easy acceptance of the forest folk. After he put all their lives in jeopardy... it was humbling indeed.

And he would be perfectly agreeable to take whatever mission She would bestow upon him, if not for the involvement of humans.

It was as much of a clemency as a punishment from Her hand, this new life. It was not in his nature to bow his head before anyone – not other Sidhe, not any of the Kin, not even his own father. Only person he could drop his eyes in front of was his... was the person who had the power of killing him. The only person he revered more than his own pride – and how did that end?

But these were thoughts for another time.

It turned out that even his pride couldn't stand strong and insolent in front of Her. The Mother of All, who looked upon him with pity and scorn. Scorn, he could take; years of exile taught him how to keep his head high and his face clear of emotions. How to reflect every insult thrown his way with a well practiced insults of his own. The pity, though...

Her scorn weighted on him heavily, but he could bear it, he was strong. But her pity cut trough flesh and bones, straight to the heart that, cleaved in half to begin with, was unable to muster any kind of defences. Because he was only a piece of a whole, lonely half of a being – and a worse half at that. And the Mother knew it and mourned for him. She brought him to life to atone for his mistakes, but She couldn't bring back his other half and it pained Her. To let him walk alone for as long as it will take to fix everything...

He hated it. She never spoke to him, but he could feel Her eyes on his back all the time – tender like mother's, but merciless in their judgement. He didn't remember being brought to life – he just woke up under the artificial lights in his new prison, surrounded by metal and... humans. His chest ached where his heart should beat and the emptiness in his mind scared him into action. He lights that hurt his eyes didn't stand his anger.

He didn't hear Her, didn't see Her – but instantly he _knew_ Her will. It didn't make him happy. He'd rather die in this glass cage they locked him in than _serve_ them!

And then one of the humans told him about the unicorn and Nuada's resolve crumbled.

If She went that far, to send Her most scared of messengers into the human dwelling – forcing it to actually _talk_ to them...

It hurt and it made him rage, but he swallowed his pride and bowed his head.

It didn't make it any easier to deal with the human stench that filled the underground box he was now eternally bound to. Didn't make it easier to stand their combined idiocy and sheer destructiveness that followed their every step and thought.

A dog of the dogs, how humiliating...

Sudden gust of cold wind slid over his body, as if the nature itself wanted to soothe his burning anger. Nuada shook his head and focused on the task at hand. That was the way to survive this - one thing at a time until some other solution comes to his mind.

Right now there was a mission set in front of him, a clear target that he was more than willing to unload his anger on. He's heard about the 'rats' – as humans called them, - many times in his life, but never had the opportunity to see them with his own eyes. The fame proceeding them was gruesome and bloody, and no wonder, nothing tainted with human blood could be expected to turn out well.

But there was something else at play there. Nuada couldn't quite pinpoint it, but the closer he's got to the target of the mission, the more... dread he felt. Not fear, never fear. But the forest seemed too silent, too still. The air was colder and smelled of acid, of rotting metal. It was just _wrong_.

From the corner of his eye he looked at the humans following behind him to see if they were as useless at he suspected. Out of the nine of them not even one seemed to grasp the change in the atmosphere, too focused they were on not tripping over their own feet in the dark. Pathetic. As loathe he was to admit it, Nuada had to give it to first humans that tainted the Earth – they were a joy to fight. Strong and skilled, they made up for the shortness of their lives with fire of their spirits.

If those were the best that humanity had to offer... then no wonder they relied on Anung un Rama to protect them.

A quiet sound from ahead caused the prince to suddenly stop in his tracks.

He paid no attention the mortals stumbling around him until they started talking. Probably thought they were being quiet, idiots. That misconception forced him to turn his head around and _communicate_ with their leader.

Fortunately, the giant man was smarter than the rest, because it took him only a split second to read Nuada's look and signal his people to shut up. Good. For one so big this one was surprisingly quick and skilled – not comparable to the Sidhe of course, but still exceeding his expectations.

As far as he was concerned, there were three humans in the "Agency" to pay any kind of attention to. The stoic director. The giant warrior and the scrawny one. Librarian.

It was a strange move on the side of the director, to give him that one for a... servant? Was he a servant? He was as useless as the others, even more so since he couldn't fight for his life and shamelessly exposed his fears. Pathetic – even if he somehow managed to get his hands on the food that the prince craved since the first day of his exile; made exactly how he liked it. It was a stupid folly, a moment of weakness when he revealed his taste to the inquiring idiot, meant to stop him from asking. He never expected the mortal to follow his instructions.

But other than that, the uselessness of that one was staggering.

"What is it?"

Nuada closed one hand on the shaft of a long knife at his belt in warning, but the towering human didn't step out of his personal space. Fearless or stupid?

Still, he was the leader of the pack and it would be beneficial to warn him to keep the idiots out of the way.

Nuada pointed in the direction from which most of the 'wrongness' came. The trees were thicker there, the ground lowering into a cirque smothered in shadows. A good place to hide. It reeked of animals and darkness.

The man, major – Nuada remembered faintly, – nodded and turned to his people, communicating with them in short gestures. Meanwhile, the prince stepped closer to the edge of the bushes and looked down to see a shallow ravine with deceptively steep walls and a rock foundation at the end. A cave, obviously. Good hiding place. Secure and secluded.

It seemed to be deserted, but the moment Nuada thought that, wind picked up blowing into his face and the land under his feet came _alive_. The forest was making sure they were upwind – a very precious favour indeed. And it was making sure that the prince _knew_... would _feel_ the earth, down the ravine, under the rocks. He could _feel_ the life there. A minute movements of a mass of bodies.

Blood pumped in his veins, heart and breath quickening without his consent. This was it. The hunt, the chase. This was being alive!

"Down there? Fuckin'ell, good and bad news."

The major again. Irritating insect. Talking seemed inevitable at this point.

"Keep them out of the way," he hissed back, unsheathing the knife. "I won't be responsible if any of you dies."

The man snorted, but nodded in agreement. It was stupid to send down those who couldn't see well enough in the dark, even armed with these mechanical eyes. It was best to keep them at the top, where they could shoot the rats that managed to escape.

"You are going to need something to get them out in the open," the man voiced the obvious. A quick shuffle and he presented Nuada with a red stick that smelled of paper and chemicals. "A flare. Get it down and wait for the fuckers to come."

A valid concept . The sole idea of going along with it made prince's skin crawl.

"We will try not to shoot you by accident."

Very reassuring – Nuada could've snapped something back, if not for the crooked smile that appeared on the man's lips, making his honest face look positively predatory. It reminded Sidhe of something, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Not important, then.

"Ok, let's fucking go already."

There was a quiet snap and the stick in the man's hand flared up with a green light. Nuada, not expecting sudden brightness, flinched back and raised his weapon, startled.

"Jumpy fucker, aren't you?" sneered the man by his side.

This time the retort was quick and sharp.

"Vulgar pheasant!"

"Still your superior."

Nuada wanted to snap that he didn't have 'superiors' and repeat the threat he spoke to the Librarian – about the liver and crows – but in that moment he's seen the first shape emerging from the dark cavern to inspect the bright light and heard growls of the others. Everything else faded into the background and only one thing remained.

The mission.

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><p>.<p>

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John jumped in the seat when the growling started. After so long without any message from the squad his nerves were strung too tight. This pack of rats was reported to be big and Nuada was an unknown factor; who knows what will happen when he's let out in the open?

So many worries, so many doubts.

And then the growling and howls tore the silence and his heart almost gave out.

"Tom, what's happening?" John demanded, pressing the earpiece of the communicator into his ear, as if that was enough to make the noises easier to understand. "Tom!"

"_Everything's fine, boss... got them fuckers cornered..._" The answer was delivered with Kowalski's usual flair. "_The elf is doing his thing, we're just basically guarding the back... Holy Fuck!"_

The last curse was loud and unexpected. John jumped again.

"Tom? What's going on?"

"_Nothing, boss, all is good... Fucking Hell, you see what he's doing there? Drew, look at that! Mother of God! A goddamn ballerina!" _

Oh. Oh, okay, it was just major's admiration coming forward in the usual way. John let out a relieved sigh.

"_Boss, if he's not good in the Agency, we can sell him to the Chinese circus... Adams, on the right! Good man, got it in the ass, now finish it off! Fuck, Richards, stop drooling and finger on the trigger! Johnny, you won't believe what I'm seeing here! ...aw, shit, I wanted to shoot this one!" _

This whole discussion was so not following the protocol, but John had no heart to remind the major about it. He tried not to smile, because this mission was not funny in the slightest, but the voices he was hearing made it very difficult.

"Okay," he tried to take the control of the situation. "How many of the rats did you count?"

"_Fuck... about a dozen? Yeah, a dozen. These are big ones, boss, four feet at least! Where did they hid till now I have no fucking clue...! Johnson, down, I got it!"_ Sound of a gunshot and satisfied hum. _"These are... strange, Johnny_."

Oh?

"How 'strange'?"

"_Bigger and damn vicious. Usually they run, but these... Sweet Jesus, did I just see what I saw, Richards? A **double fucking backflip**? How old is this guy? ...oh yeah, Boss, when it's clear you can come and see for yourself. Fuck, Drew, down!" _

John didn't ask more questions opting instead to listen to major's narrative and try to come up with a way to get rid of twelve big carcasses. But as much as he tried to concentrate on the issue at hand, his brain kept replaying the discussion with Olga from not that long ago.

"_The prince shook the world and almost called a war. It was enough to wake the Evil from slumber." _

"_Evil? Oh. So that's why Halloween this year was so busy."_

"_Yes, Oh. And this is just the beginning, Johnny. Evil hides, saps energy from the living world. It will come after you if you're not careful."_

And even though the heating in the car was turned on full blast, he still felt a cold shiver running down his spine.

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><p>.<p>

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The creatures were _wrong_ beyond comprehension. In every way imaginable, they shouldn't exist.

Even though Nuada's relations with Fenrir's children were never friendly, he still respected them. He even accepted the twisted offshoot of the race that were human shape-shifters. Even tainted, they were praiseworthy in their final shape – the best elements of both, human and animal, put together.

This... these things... were the exact opposite. As if someone took the least fitting parts of both and tried to combine them into a working whole. The proportions were all wrong: bodies with short legs and laughably big paws that ended in malformed finger-like claws. Muzzles too short, too wide, full of teeth that were too big. Movements jerky and violent, almost spastic.

And the eyes. Red and angry.

These things weren't insane or rabid. They were simply evil. There was no other word for it. They were _wrong_ in every sense.

His knife was not enough – too short, it required him to step too close to the vile beasts. Nuada couldn't handle their stench, their aura: cold and darkness and rot. The spear gave him better range and much needed distance; even in the tight ravine he was loathe to forsake it. And it wasn't like he was at the disadvantage.

The creatures were fast and vicious, but they were no danger to him. Their flesh and bones easily gave way to the silver blade of the spear that sung in his hands for the first time since his awakening. After this mission was over, humans will have to cut his hands off first before they take it back from him.

For now he focused at the task, dancing between the beasts, cutting through their throats and sides, stepping over the fallen ones without grief. Few managed to escape, climbing the steep walls, but those were dealt with by the humans and their metal toys. For once useful for something.

In retrospect the battle was a short one. When the last beast fell, Nuada stood still for a while, waiting, listening. Making sure that it's over. The humans were talking and shuffling around, but he's paid them little attention.

He wondered. If he made his move now, it would be easy to escape. None of the fools above would dare to stand in his way after seeing him in action. And even if they did, he would gladly go over their dead bodies to reach his freedom. If he moved now, he would escape this humiliating servitude and be his own master again.

But then what?

Where would he go? A dead man walking, a half-being, a disgrace to his people...

Nuada had no illusions, he was left without honour and didn't deserve forgiveness from the Kin. He was a Fallen Prince now, trapped in Limbo of his own making.

She wanted him to stay with humans, so he would stay with them. And, besides that...

"Hey, your highness, you done?" A voice from above shook him out of the contemplation of his miserable life. The major, again. "Get yourself up here and help with the clean-up!"

Daring, stupid human.

"My task was to kill those things," he spoke back, glad that his voice carried even at a whisper. "I have no interest in anything else."

The spear shrunk to the size that allowed him to sheathe it and in two jumps Nuada was at the top of the ravine. He could've done it in one, but there was no reason to show off before insects. He scanned the area with sharp eyes and counted three... no, four beasts on the ground, shot dead.

Humans gave him wide breadth as soon as they realised his presence. Good.

He was unsure of what to do at this point. The mission wasn't over yet, apparently, there was thirteen carcasses to dispose of. Or maybe they'll keep them? Like they kept him?

Why did they keep him when he was dead? – that was a good question. Maybe his servant knew the answer? It wouldn't be hard to press him into the wall again and start breaking his fingers until the pitiful wretch stops covering behind his pathetic excuses. Nuada was prepared to get his answers at some point and now seemed as good time as any – he's finally had the spear back, no one could stand in his way.

And talking about the annoying human: there he was, running up to the major. Winded and gasping after such a short distance, pathetic. Asking questions again, of course, that seemed to be the point of his existence – annoying others.

The major didn't seem annoyed enough, which was strange. Like a wolf that had a yapping pup running between his front legs, he seemed to tolerate the Librarian with admirable ease. But his stance, the sheer power his tall body conveyed – it made something in Nuada's memory twitch again. And, again, he couldn't put his finger on it. Strange. And dangerous.

Before he even heard the whisper of a move behind him, the prince already scolded himself for being stupid and getting distracted on a battleground. Oh, so stupid! Of course that these idiotic mortals didn't manage to kill all of the creatures, he was expecting too much of them. Of course one of them was just playing dead. Of course.

Nuada could feel the beast before he could see it. He could feel the jaws that were yet to close on his tight and could turn away in time; using skills honed by millennia of fighting and training, he could avoid the bite entirely. Sacrificing just a little piece of his clothing he could also avoid the bloodshed and unpleasant thoughts that plagued him from the moment of his awakening.

From the moment he witnessed the strange procedures that a woman doctor preformed with her needles and glass vials.

And yet...

The thought of living without his heart scared Nuada on some fundamental level. Avoidance was never his forte. It took effort and drained him needlessly. The human it concerned was conveniently at hand, too.

So he didn't move. He froze in place and let himself be bitten, let the beast have that last triumph before he stabbed it between its eyes.

When the needle-sharp fangs ripped into his body, trough skin and muscle of his right tight, Nuada tensed in pain without making a sound while the scrawny, useless human went down with a startled shout.

Well, that was one thing he could stop wondering about.

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><p>Whew, this one was long in the making, I apologise_ And it was a double POV so it was even harder to put together - since Nuada is pretty hard to write_, bugger. But I hope I managed to convey his 'elfness' well enough:)<p>

And I could FINALLY reveal the real nature of Nuada's 'ressurectioon' concerning John and his 'pure heart'. And unicorn's parting words make sense now, don't they?^_- Also, I am curious if anyone noticed that little trick I used in the infirmary_ Yes, Nuada can lie to himself as well as any human and denial is not strange to him. Now that the cards are on the table, he will have to adjust his strategy a little. And John... John will need an explanation.

Thanks for all the great reviews, guys, I appreciate each and every one of them^^.


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry for the long wait, guys. I was busy with the Dissertation and last projects for the Uni:) But here I am bringing a nice, juicy chapter to make up for it. Enjoy.

Oh, and if anyone was curious as to Olga's looks - jump there:

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and for some laughs:

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(warning: there are boobs in these pictures, feel warned:)

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><p>.<p>

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"Alright, agent Myers, let's go through this again. What's happened out there?"

The expectant tone in Director's voice forced John to tear his eyes away from the contemplation of the floor between his feet and look up to meet the man's impatient stare. He swallowed, feeling the hair on the back of his neck raising. Funny, how only a few days back he thought that the Director Heart is a scary man.

It seems that he hadn't known anything.

Eliah Hart, just like Kowalski, turned out to be ten times scarier when he was concerned. And concerned he was, John could see it clearly and it made him even more nervous. For a feeling of any kind to grace that stoic face, managing to pierce through the usual stony calmness… it was distressing on too many levels.

Even more so when the only answer that John could provide was:

"I don't know."

It did nothing to lighten up the atmosphere in the office – on the contrary. This in turn didn't help John's nerves that were tightly strung to begin with. He wasn't yet sure this was all happening, after all. His hands kept landing on his right thigh – right on the bulk of bandages hidden under the trouser-leg – as if to check for him that yes, this is not a dream. The bandages were real; likewise the stitches that kept his flesh together. And the pain.

John fancied himself something of an expert on the subject of pain (after Russian catacombs and a mallet-to-the-head thing after almost being burned-to-death and right before freezing-to-death on the pole), and this one was as real as they got.

But it still didn't get him any closer to finding the answer that the director wanted to hear. Nor one for the major. Not even for himself.

He knew for sure that he wasn't a stigmatic.

But he also knew for sure that wounds didn't just appear on people out of thin air.

Well, there was a suspicion that it wasn't… But no. No, it was just stupid.

Except that it wasn't. Because, from the moment he woke up, John's mind kept replaying that moment in the forest.

_He was standing with Kowalski, asking questions about the attack and taking mental notes for the report he was supposed to write. He was looking at the carcass of the nearest beast and noting the differences that the major spoke about on the radio. The sheer size of the beast certainly exceeded what he expected to see. Here was also something else about the rat that John couldn't quite put his finger on. It was a fleeting reflection; more like a sensation of sudden cold in his bones. Similar to the times when Nuada looked at him with that calculating stare of his… _

_Thinking about the Sidhe reminded him that not all agents have been accounted for yet. It made him look around in search of the prince to find him; stupid really, when it turned out that he wasn't that far after all – standing at rest barely a few yards from the young agent._

_And then everything stopped making sense. _

_Because the beast that was supposed to be dead suddenly jumped to its feet and rushed at Nuada, teeth bared and eyes blazing red. (Why red? Usually they were pale brown or grey.) John opened his mouth to shout a warning; raised his arm to alarm the major, reached for the gun with his other hand… But then his eyes met the prince's and John's voice stuck in his throat. _

_That millisecond of contact told him that – Nuada knew. He was aware of the attack. Which was impossible, because he was not moving. Why wasn't he moving? Why was he just standing there, frozen mid-step and not avoiding the beast? _

_That millisecond told John that Nuada was aware of everything – and that he allowed it. Which was just plain ridiculous. Just stupid! _

_In the split second the creature reached its goal. John, even in the partial darkness around, could see these razor-sharp teeth sinking into his charge's thigh… _

_And the burning pain shot through his own leg. Like nothing before, even more severe for the complete surprise of it. Strong enough to tear a scream out of his throat, to turn his sight red and soften all his bones so that his body folded like a marionette with its strings cut. _

_He grabbed his thigh – a simple reflex of the wounded – and (oh God!) felt hot wetness under his palms. _

_John could hear people around him shouting, someone asking him questions, but his ears were pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. There was a presence beside him, that he could feel, strong and reassuring (it had to be Tom), but his mind barely registered it. _

_He blinked the redness away to look at the Sidhe, at his charge, concerned and afraid of what he would see. Why was no one helping him? He was important to them now! _

_The best was dead, motionless, bleeding black. Shadows were pooling around it. _

_Nuada stood like before, his spear extended, smeared with blood. The light fabric on his right thigh was shredded and red stains blossomed on it all the way down to the knee. _

_Their eyes met again and the agent's heart seemed to freeze in his chest for one painful moment… (Nuada looked angry, disappointed, defeated.) …and then it started up again, at twice the speed, rippling pain blossoming around it, tearing through the ribcage. John choked on the cry and fell forward, grasping at his chest and his thigh. Strong hands caught him before he smashed face first into the frozen ground and pulled him on the side. Someone was shouting his name._

_He didn't pay attention. He couldn't. His bloody hands touched the ground in a kitten-weak attempt to push up – and the earth **sang** to him. There was no other word for it; the ground under his palms was **alive**._

_It was the scariest thing John T. Myers experienced in his whole life. _

_Then he fainted. _

When he came online again it was back in the base, in the infirmary. Lying on the hard, uncomfortable bed with needles stuck in his arm and Dr Feehney's assistant bent over him, focused completely on putting stitches on a nasty wound. It took John an embarrassingly long moment to realize that it was actually on his own leg and that the wound had a distinctive bite mark-qualities. And it was a rather nasty bite mark too. His head was spinning and he felt sick, the pain was still present, but momentarily overshadowed by fear and confusion.

Dr Feehney's questioning that began as soon as the woman saw him awake didn't help matters; it just drove home the point that _he didn't know what's happened._

And it was driving him crazy!

He asked about the prince as soon as he was allowed to, asked for Kowalski to come to him and fill him on the details. It wasn't the best idea in retrospect – as the major turned to be at his most concerned and scary. But he answered questions.

Nuada was already sewed up. His wound was distressingly similar to the one John has suffered. All the rats' carcasses were brought in and were in the middle of investigation. Most of them have been burned already.

No, there was none of them even close to John when the man went down; the only one still alive got a bite out of the Sidhe.

The prince took to his room as soon as they returned and ignored everyone who came to question him. No, they didn't manage to take his weapons back; stupid mistake, really.

In the end John didn't find out any more than he expected. There were still no answers, beyond the unsure glimpses of suspicion that he could see in the eyes of the major and Dr Feehney. He knew what it was, he suspected… but no. It couldn't be. It was just something else_, it had to be!_

His heart felt heavy and it scared him. From the moment he stepped out of the infirmary John' felt as if his chest was filled with liquid lead that swished to the sides with every step the man took, sabotaging his equilibrium. His head felt… stuffed. As if his brain swelled at some point. Crowded.

Director Hart had to see it in some way, because he backed off a little. His brows inched closer to each other, but his eyes cleared; he let his hands rest in the desk, relaxed his fingers.

"Quarantine, both of you," he spoke with authority, but without the usual cold bite. "Until we know what we are dealing with, no missions. You are not to step one foot outside of the base, understand?"

"Yes, sir," John could only nod. His insides were twisting and he needed answers from the person who didn't want to speak with him.

That left him with only one option.

.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

"Boys."

"Yes, John?"

"Yes, mister Myers?"

"Could you do me a favour?"

"**Of course!**"

"Could you… carry a message for me? Outside of the base?"

"Ooh, like a mission?"

"Yes, Tik, like a mission."

"I can do it, John, I can do it! What is it? What message? Where?"

"Quiet, stupid, let mister Myers talk!"

"Thank you, Tik. I need one of you to go to Great Falls. There's a woman there, she lives in the water."

"Ooh, a water lady! The wise one!"

"Yes, she is very wise. I can't go there now, but I need her advice very much. Tell her that. If she can help me, I would be very grateful."

"Yes, John! Right away!"

"…your brother is very energetic today, Tik."

"He's got into mister Dave's sugar tin. Mom always told him to stay away from sugar. You won't tell mister Dave, will you?"

"You have nothing to fear. By the way, how is the dinner going?"

"Ooh, the prince should be very happy today! We made a duck in the juniper sauce with death caps and clover bread! It's a pity humans can't eat it, you would like it, mister Myers."

"I am sure I would. And I bet _he_ will be delighted."

.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

Nuada was in a dark mood.

Which was surprising, really, if anyone told him two days ago that his mood would get even darker – that the situation he's found himself in could get even worse – he wouldn't believe. But the old human saying seemed to exist for a reason. As much as the prince hated everything that came with this particular specie, their penchant for fatality was downright fascinating.

It can always get worse.

It would seem that for Nuada it always did.

For most of the creatures that crowded this land it would be enough to just die; but not for him. Oh no. He would be brought back to life as a punishment for his deeds, to see how the things he did in good faith has resulted in a slowly moving catastrophe-in-the-making. But that wasn't enough. This new half-life of his was to be spent in loneliness; among the creatures he hated the most, his eternal enemies. As their weapon.

But he thought that was the end. That it can't get any worse, he can't fall any lower. And, to tell the truth, for the last few days he even started… no, not accepting, but… he finally managed to start feeling indifferent to this fate. Humans didn't treat him awfully. That was the worst and the best thing at the same time. They didn't treat him with due respect, yes, but they treated him with courtesy. Insufficient and stunted, as it was, he wasn't treated worse than one of their own.

Nuada still couldn't decide if he felt insulted or enraged by that last one.

It bore annoying overtones of dismissal, which made him see red, but at the same time he was mostly left alone – which was what he wanted. He was caged in the underground bunker, a box of a living space that was awkward and painfully plain an unnatural. But, at the same time, from what he understood it was considered his. And even if he would rather die than call an ownership over something that humans made, he would not say no when it was being offered to him in this circumstances.

He had to deal with being constantly observed through those little mechanic devices, which was humiliating on a principle. And with annoying humans who asked questions of him and watched him as if he was a monkey preforming a trick. Insects that he could easily kill with one of his hands held behind his back…

They kept bringing him food, though. And not just any food.

Nuada believed that if he was forced to eat the same drivel his jailers were so fond of, he would commit self-murder weeks ago. She would not condemn him to living through that torture, he was sure.

Luckily, and quite shockingly, the first meal he was served has been the best meal he's experienced in years. Things that he favoured before his exile, things that were destined to grace only the noblest of tables – they've been offered to him as an offhand gesture of good will. They were not human-made – they _could not_ be human-made! No human possessed the skill and the patience; no human could even lay their hands on the ingredients for these dishes.

That was surprising. And that was not good. Pests should not possess the ability to pleasantly surprise him.

It only added to the confusion the prince was feeling since he woke up from the death's sleep.

But, for the last few days, he's managed to find his equilibrium again. He stopped expecting to be killed in his sleep or poisoned during his meals. He even thought… that maybe it wouldn't be unbearable. Nuada would not hope for that new life to be anything even close to _pleasant_, but, just maybe, it would be bearable. If he was just left alone and allowed to stay that way.

But it got worse.

Of course it got worse.

At the moment he's even managed to believe that living with a half of the heart is possible, fate has laughed in his face again. And what a bitter, hateful laugh it has been; the prince could still hear the echoes of it in his ears, feel them pulsing in his chest that felt like it was full of lead.

Nuada clenches his fists and leaned forward in the small glass cage of the shower cabin until his forehead rested on the cold tiles. Hot water beat on his head and shoulders trying to loosen the stiffness of the muscles. Nuada didn't let it happen. He was not ready to let go of his anger yet. The pain in his thigh – where the flesh was slowly mending itself after it was ripped apart by the foul fangs of the mutated beast,- would be distracting if it didn't remind him of the reason he was angry in the first place. The wound was there only because of his damned curiosity.

His question has been answered. He suspected, till now, but managed to keep those thoughts away. When did he manage to learn how to lie to himself so well? It was a disgustingly human trait.

It was confirmed now – his greatest nightmare came to life.

He would scream in rage, but it wouldn't do to bring the humans into this. But nothing could stop him from smashing his fists into the wall. One, two, three hits; white tiles cracking under the assault. Skin on his knuckles bruising and breaking.

When his sister died, his heart felt empty.

Now it was whole again, beating in a new rhythm that he didn't yet know. He hated it already.

.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

Library it was – John decided to go there after his visit to the kitchen. He was sure that there were some reports he should have filled a while ago lying about. He needed something to do, anything. It was as good place as any.

Sitting at the desk usually calmed him, the atmosphere of the room always helped him gather his wits and concentrate on the task at hand. Not today, thought.

He was distraught. He couldn't seem to find a comfortable position in the chair that his hurting leg would accept. The letters were dancing in front of his eyes, seemingly mocking him. He couldn't focus on the text at all.

Annoyed, John stood from the chair and, leaning on the crutch that Dr Feehney insisted he use, decided that he can't stand it anymore. Whatever has happened, it was connected to Nuada in some way. The library didn't have a lot of information on Sidhe, but there _had to_ be something useful.

With a strong resolve, John picked up the books he previously only skimmed. Halfway to the desk, however, a sudden pain shot through his hands causing him to drop them all. The agent yelped and lifter his arms, which made the crutch slip from under his arm, which in turn left his wounded leg without any support. It folded neatly, screaming with fresh pain.

John tumbled to the floor in a graceless heap, making a confused, hurting sound that ended in a high pitched whimper when his left hand made cracking sound and the knuckles on it blossomed red.

"Oh God, what...?" he could only stare wide-eyed at the skin that swelled and bruised before his very eyes. "What is happening… Damnit!"

It hurt!

"You should tell him to be more careful, malczik." A steady, smooth voice whispered in his ears. "He is not alone anymore."

John looked around frantically, only to stop on Abe's tank… that should be empty. It was empty yesterday, he could swear it was.

It wasn't empty now – by any means.

"…Olga? What are you…? Ouch!" the pain cut him off.

Rusalka leaned towards the glass wall, her translucent form clearly visible thanks to the lights installed in the tank. Her face was beautiful as always, but the expression on it spoke of pity.

"And you are not alone either, Johnny."

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

Thanks for all the great reviews, guys:)

Yeah, Nuada is currently in a very dark place - he is honourable enough to admit to himself that he screwed up and, following that up, will now proceed to put himself down and drown in angst for a whileXD He was really raised too well.

Nature - and the Other Kin - are not so hard on him as he is on himself, because a) most of them doesn't yet know what are the consecuences of his actions, b) they still consider him royality and a scary warrior at that. So Tik and Tak for example will just fanboy over him and the part of nature that is aware of the danger will make everythign to help him on his mission - for the good of all.

He is still not happy with the 'mission' tthough:) And he will never be, after all it is not something he would CHOOSE to do. And all these humans, yuk!XD He needs to come around.

John, my poor cutie JohnT_T Hopefully he will get some answers out of Olga soon before Nuada damages them both sriously...

Mad Scientist: Thank you and yes, I do wish for the Mary Sue crap to subside... I would love to read about the prince without any of those 'strange' and 'mysterious' girls getting in the way. Hopefully my take on Nuada will do him justice.

And, just to warn my precious readers, it will take a WHILE for Johnny and the prince to come around and stop wanting each other's demise. No insta-romance in this story, I apologise, but Nuada is too old for that.

...not to say that I will never write, say, an insta-romance short AU or something_


	11. Chapter 11

Hi.

It sure took me a while to submit this chapter, but, well, last weeks of university were draining - with projects to finish and show to run, there was not much time for writing. But now we're back on the track. And there will be no Nuada in this chapter, but finally somethings will get to be explained.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>He stared at the water woman in front of him and though the stabbing pain in his hands and his thigh one question came to the forefront of his mind.<p>

"How… what are you doing here, Olga?"

Rusalka smiled at him from behind the glass, as always amused with him.

"It came to my attention that you needed me, boy," she answered in a breathy whisper.

Oh, of course, Tik. Little bug was fast.

"But this place… it's not a good place for you," John remembered that once he said the same thing to the unicorn. "The base is not a good place for the Others. Director…"

"It became a much better place lately, it would seem," she laughed gently at his confusion. "As your little messenger assured me."

Of course, Tik. That little bug!

"But…"

"John, what the hell is going in? Are you alright, man?"

Kowalski's voice was loud in the room and tuned out anything that John wanted to say. All the lights in the brain of the young agent fired up when the major closed up on him, eyebrows pulled together, face pinched in worry.

"I fucking told you to stay in the Infirmary, didn't I? Fuck, Librarian… the fuck?"

The flow of words stopped instantly and John had a split second to react. Before he even knew what he was doing he threw one of his hurting hands up and shouted: "Tom, no! It's alright!" And fucking _Ouch!_ that hurt!

Olga looked unimpressed.

John couldn't do much from his kneeling position, not with his leg and now hands pulsing with pain. It was fairly humiliating that the only thing that he could do to get the man's attention was to grab one of his side pockets with trembling fingers, like a child.

"Please, Tom, she's… not a threat."

He was going to say "safe", but changed his mind at the last moment. No Other Kin took lightly to being underestimated. And Olga was very old and very scary.

But it did the job, at least it seemed so. Kowalski stopped with one hand on the holster, standing stiff as a board between John and the glass container, staring at the apparition of the woman that calmly looked back. Truth to be told, sitting on the floor in the shadow of this man… John felt somewhat safer. His body still hurt and he was still terrified, and Olga's ominous words still played on replay in his mind… But Kowalski was just so - _there_. He was the steadiest person young agent has ever known, an unmovable force that wouldn't let anyone hurt him.

Even if this silent assessment between the man and water spirit took its time. They stared at one another for at least full minute and only after confirming what he needed to confirm, major visibly relaxed his shoulders.

"You are the woman from Great Falls," he stated harshly. "The one with all the answers."

"And you are his friend," Olga replied calmly. "The one who cares."

They both nodded and fell silent. John didn't have a clue what just transpired in front on his eyes, because, as if on cue the atmosphere in the room almost visibly lightened. He was about to mention it too when another bout of pain ripped through his left hand and he could actually swear that one of his bones snapped.

Kowalski was by his side in a second, concerned and oh so scary.

"Johnny? John! What the fuck is going on here?" He reached out, but then pulled his hands back, as if he wasn't sure that his touch wouldn't make the matters worse. Like a child trying to catch a wounded sparrow.

"It's the prince," the answer came from behind the glass. "He forgets that he is not alone anymore… or maybe not. Maybe he remembers."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The major was visibly agitated. He finally decided to stop being a baby and grabbed John by the shoulders, trying to pull him to his feet.

"It means," Olga leaned closer, face almost touching the glass, "that the prince found the other half of his heart. And that he is not happy about the person who is in the possession of it."

Kowalski's face did a strange little tic – as if two or more expressions suddenly clashed in a fight for dominance. He looked to the water spirit then back to John; he rubbed his face with one big hand.

"Director has to fucking know about this," he finally decided.

"Tom…" John tried to speak.

"To Infirmary first with you, Boss."

"Tom…"

"What?"

Younger agent managed to uncurl from the miserable ball his body decided to form and looked at the mountain of a friend with pleasing eyes.

"Send someone to check on him. Just tell them to be careful. He is not in the best of moods."

The last one slipped out without his will. What didn't change the fact that John was sure it was the truth. And it scared the hell out of him.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Doctor Feehney's diagnosis was short and to the point. She looked at the x-rays of both o John's hands and announced:

"Right hand is okay, just bruises. Left one, tough, was not so lucky. Middle and ring fingers are sprained; I can see a hair fracture on the intermediate phalange of your index finger. You'll get painkillers and will have to wear them bound for a couple of weeks. Luckily there's no setting necessary."

And _then_ she looked at John who was seated on a chair in the middle of her office and all but vibrating out of his skin. It didn't yet happen only because Kowalski was standing right behind him with a steady hand keeping his shoulder from shaking.

"Will someone tell me how you managed to injure yourself so quickly after our last meeting?" the woman asked.

"I fell," was out of John's mouth before he managed to stop it.

He could practically hear the major smirking behind his back. Way to go, scout, you could come up with something more than the most common excuse known to humanity.

"You fell," the doctor repeated after him, eyebrows going up.

"I will say it while there's still time," Kowalski cut in. "I am not his abusive boyfriend."

John moaned and hunched, hiding his face behind the right hand; the left was resting on his knee, swathed in bandages and stiff. He was still in pain, even though he's got some painkillers already. He was impossibly tired all of a sudden and his head was a mess. He needed to talk to Olga. He needed to talk to Nuada.

He needed to know what the hell was going on with him. With them. No, with him.

Him only, the elf had nothing to do with it!

"It's a good idea to go and inform the Director, kid," Kowalski proposed, patting the younger agent on the back.

But John shook him off and stood up, reaching for the crutch.

"Yeah, you do that," he said. "I have someone to talk with first."

"Boss…"

"Thank you, Tom, I appreciate your help. Now go." He nodded his thanks to the elderly doctor. "Thank you, doc; I will try not to injure myself further."

She smiled to him, but it was a tight, nervous little smile. John took it for what it was worth, after all his smile was exactly the same.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Just to sum it up," he spoke to the room at large. "When you said 'He is for you' you didn't man it in the plural way, did you?"

The room answered with an echo, but other than that remained silent. It was a big space, an underground pool that was built especially so that Abe could stretch out in a space that wasn't limited with glass walls at the arm-reach. It was connected to most of the building with a net of water pipe-like "corridors", which led to the strategic points of the base – like the one in the library or the one in the armoury. After Hellboy and his family left the pool fell into disuse for a short time – no one really wanted to use it. People felt awkward swimming in something that for the longest time was considered someone else's home-slash-bed.

But after a while some younger agents started visiting the place, not knowing about its origin, and Director Hart was convinced to leave it open for the staff.

John stopped at the edge of the pool, leaning on the crutch and staring accusingly at the bluish water below. The pool, unlike any other public installation, was not illuminated from above, but from below. With pale-blue luminescent lights that made Olga's sudden appearance seem even more creepy and spiritual than it usually was.

There was no plants in this water, John was sure that the filters were working fine, but in some way rusalka brought her reeds and duckweed with her to help her body define itself. She rose from the surface of the water with grace and, as it was her custom, leaned his way, resting her hands on the edge of the pool.

"He is for you," she repeated slowly. "And you are for him."

"And you didn't think to add that little bit of information in the beginning?" John bit out. He was surprised by the harsh tone of his voice, and even more at the hot feeling of frustration and anger that flowed through him. "That his revival means that I will be cursed with sharing… whatever am I sharing with him?"

He was digging his own grave and he knew it; one didn't simply raise their voice at the Others, especially as old as this one. Most of the Kin were very quick to reflect any strong emotions back at the sender – while adding something of their own on the way.

But Olga kept her calm and just blinked slowly at him.

"You are not cursed, boy," she said. "Of course you were chosen by Her, there was no other option available."

"Of course…?" the agent struggled to understand it all. To stop himself from shouting, from demanding reason and normality back. "What does that even mean? And what does it mean with the heart thing? How can I be… Oh God, tell me it was some sort of an euphemism!"

'Other half of his heart' sounded too weird, too… binding. To John it sounded like some worn out metaphor from a romance novel; something too uncomfortable to think about. He was no one's heart!

Olga flinched slightly, when the God's name was mentioned, but John couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it. It was a testament of how shaken he has been, to forget simple courtesy of not speaking of things that Kin found uncomfortable. Rusalka had to see it too, because she didn't scold him for it – on the contrary, her impassive expression cracked a little and a tiny bit of pity shined through.

"Sidhe have no souls, Johnny," she spoke quietly, as if revealing some kind of a secret to him. "None of the Kin has, you know about it. They have fire that keeps them going, what we call 'hearts'. It's the will that keeps them alive. But sometimes the 'heart' is faulty and sometimes it splits itself. Humans call them twins."

John had to sit down for that. For one thing, his leg was starting to hurt again; for another, it would suck majorly if he fainted and fell back on the hard tile.

"Like Nuada and his sister," he concluded, lowering himself carefully. "They were twins. And the documents say that they felt things together. Like in the old tales…"

No.

No, that was just no!

"You see them as two," Olga nodded to his thoughts. "While in fact they were one. Together they were one person, Johnny. The heart splits in opposites, womanly and manly, light and dark, good and bad."

John knew where this was going and he didn't want to hear it.

He didn't!

"She was the light to his dark. Pure and kind. She was the better half of him. But the Mother couldn't bring her back, for her body crumbled down. And She couldn't bring him back with only half of a heart."

"But, Olga…"

"You were there when it happened. The unicorn saw your worth; it let you touch it and it choose you."

The air in the room – in the world – seemed to suddenly disappear. John felt like a fish thrown out of water; he gasped for breath and shook, grateful now that he decided to sit down.

"I don't like it," he said and wanted to laugh at how very true and very useless it was in this situation. How it didn't even start to cover how _not alright_ he was with it.

"You were chosen, Johnny," Olga repeated and her shushing Slavic accent turned these words into some kind of a song.

Or a curse.

"You are a good boy."

He wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Look where being a 'good boy' has got him! First, a secret government agency full of freaks, Russian catacombs full of monsters, an Arctic base full of resentment and smell of unwashed furs, a half-baked mission to Great Falls, Washington, where he met this woman made of water and wet grass. Being a "good boy" haven't got him anything that didn't end up in pain and loneliness!

"I still don't like it. Couldn't he... why couldn't it be one of his kind? I am human, I should not... It shouldn't happen!" he rasped.

"It shouldn't," rusalka agreed, reaching to touch his face. "But, Johnny, pure hearts are so very rare to find."

"And isn't that a marvel that agent Myers someway has managed to live this long?"

John almost jumped out of his skin when the calm, cold voice of Director Hart sounded from behind him. He turned around to see the man standing by the entrance to the pool with his arms crossed and an impassive expression on his face.

Oh God – he thought. This day couldn't get any worse. If they got a letter from Russia saying that Rasputin came back to life and wreaking havoc it wouldn't even put a dent in the badness of the last couple of hours. With an air of resignation around him, John lifted one of his bandaged hands and pointed at the rusalka; who was still present and still naked.

"Director, this is Olga, the… source I told you about. She is very wise," he felt compelled to add. Then he pointed at the man and spoke to Olga. "This is Director Hart, my boss. He… well, he can decide which pole they will send me now to."

He really should keep a backpack by the doors of his room or under the bed; packed with flannel pyjamas, spare socks, slippers and a can of coffee beans. Some sweets. Maybe few photographs to remember his past life when they send him off to Siberia for the rest of eternity.

The Director snorted at his words (_actually snorted_) which was pretty unusual as far as John's knowledge of the man went. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose and stepped closer to the young agent and water spirit.

"I doubt it will be necessary, major Kowalski assured me that you've learned your lesson the first time around." And wasn't it an actual joke? World was ending. Heart stopped next to John, and if Myers didn't know him well enough he could have sworn that the inch of the difference made him stand _in front_ of him. But that was just silly; Kowalski was protective of his people, Eliah Hart wasn't that sentimental.

That move, however, caused Olga to raise her head and, visibly unhappy with the fact that she had to do it, she rose from the water. John was baffled – for the longest time he was sure that rusalka didn't possess legs – only to be proved wrong when she stood eye to eye with the Director.

"My lady," he inclined his head. "I am a patient man, but the way Other Kin keeps pushing at my employees and the way I run this agency is starting to irritate me."

"She decided you need help," was Olga's answer. Bulletproof as far as John was aware.

Eliah Hart, obviously, was made of different stuff.

"And B.P.R.D would gladly accept that help if informed of it beforehand. You see, it is hard to trust a partner who hides his cards; especially when their help is so costly."

Oh God, this was going downhill. John had half of a thought to start crawling towards the door, but sheer fascination with the encounter of two steely wills rooted him to the spot.

"If we could just sit down and discuss some initial rules of this… co-operation, it would all go much smoother. Don't you think so, lady?"

John was all for it.

That means, for them to talk it all over while he goes to take a nap.

Hopefully it will all turn to be a dream and he'll wake up in his Antarctic base: cold and unhappy, but at least sane.

.

.

* * *

><p>Thank you for all the reviews, you lovely people you:) I appreciate each and every one of them. Yes, it will take a while for Nuada to come around and John has few more mental breakdowns waiting for him, hopefully you will like it, guys:)<p>

Just a question to all of you lovelies:

As I am mostly assembling my cast out of OC's, I am aware that I may not always get them right. I am trying to make every character count and make them at least a little, well, character:) Major Kowalski, Director Heart, Olga, Tik and Tak, Kowalski's squad... What I want to know is just ,well, am I doing a good job with them? Because as much as the story is focused on John and the Prince,they are always there in the background - and i want them to stay there.


	12. Chapter 12

Yeah... late, I know_ This time my excuse is that I moved houses this month and it took a lot of hassle to set up everything properly.

It may be the reason why I am especially nasty to poor Johnny - and, yeah, poor Nuada.

Or it may be just me being me:)

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

Being raised by Thaddeus Myers had a profound effect on the way John looked at world and the overall experience of living on it. Being essentially a good man, Uncle Ted raised him to be essentially a good person. He's taught John to work hard, keep his conscience clean and always expect that that even most carefully thought out plans will sometimes end up wheels up and on fire.

Uncle Ted was a realist, but with a fairly positive outlook on life.

One of the things that John has managed to learn during the years under his care was a firm belief that no matter how bad the situation could get – how many bad things happened to someone – there came a time in the end when the overall mass of bad luck exceeded its limits and cancelled itself out. Not exactly a moment of good luck, but rather a short breather. A minute for the karma to finally catch up making the world seem like a better place by comparison.

John's own life seemed dead set on proving him wrong.

That was probably the reason why he woke up in the room next to the library and not in the Antarctic base. Sheer amount of disappointment that fact brought him served only to prove how weird his existence has become.

Either his life was out to get him or it was all one drawn-out punishment for some past-life sins.

"Get up Librarian, time to do some work for a change."

Presence of agent DeLuca seemed to confirm that suspicion. The rookie was leaning over his bed and staring at Myers with cheerfulness that was plainly distressing. It was that face, staff of the B.P.R.D. concluded at some point in the recent past. This kind of features that announced trouble with a subconscious raise of eyebrows and a wicked glint in unusually pale eyes. And that smile, God, that smile.

On any other day John would feel bad for thinking like that about another human being; for unsavoury assumptions based on looks alone. But on this day he felt only irritation that thought brought him. Damn it, he was human too, he had the right to be an asshole every once in a while.

"Get out of my face, Anthony," he forced out of his parched throat. God, he was thirsty. "Or I will convince Tom to pull a disciplinary on your ass."

Rookie didn't seem to be concerned with the threat. He simply shrugged and moved back a step, allowing John to pull himself up to sitting position. He was even kind enough to hand him a cup of water the other man desperately needed.

"Here you go, sir. You look like crap, if I can say so." And the smile again. Damn, the kid had more teeth than it was strictly necessary.

"No, you can't say so."

John handed the empty cup back and allowed himself a moment to lean on the headboard and take stock of his body. When he went to bed at… well, he didn't really remember the exact hour, he just knew it was still before midnight the day before… he felt like crap. His leg was killing him, his hands were a mess and his brain was one step from exploding. He left Olga and Director Hart in the Library, locked in a discussion that sounded distressingly like a business deal. They didn't argue outright, but both of them expressed their opinions very strongly.

John could almost feel Director's frustration a few times – especially when the issue of his "pure heart" came up. Olga often used it as an explanation in a way that didn't really explain anything. It made her exasperated in turn when they couldn't seem to understand anything that was perfectly clear from the Other Kind's point of view. Like few simple facts:

_The Mother was not to be questioned. _

_Pure hearts were rare and precious, but also a heavy burden. _

_Humans possessing them were even rarer still and, as that, they weren't counted as Human Kind anymore; instead falling under some strange category of "common goods". _

That was a part of the discussion that struck John to the core. Information that: from the moment of his birth, he was destined to be some kind of a shared commodity for both Sides. That the purpose of his life wasn't to simply live it; instead, he was a cog in some grand mechanism that runs the Universe.

That was it, then, the moment he decided to excuse himself from the Library. He couldn't listen to this crap anymore; to the calm and unapologetic way Olga spoke about it. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if John was supposed to know it already, understand it and agree with it without question. Accept the fact that whenever that strange Mother of All needed something to patch up her grand plan of Existence, she could just pull in any unfortunate soul and use it. That he could be used in this way without any warning or explanation.

What was this "pure heart" anyway? Why no one seemed inclined to explain it to him: how did one come into possession of it and how one got rid of it? How was it defined?

Especially that John has never seen himself as someone "pure". Hell, he was just a normal guy, no different from 80% of humanity who weren't inherently fucked up or psychotic. He surely wasn't an angel; he felt anger just like any other person. He hated certain things with passion; he could hurt people and even knew how to kill them. Few times he's pulled the trigger on the Other Kind!

And wasn't it all so strangely convenient? Could it be that all this was somehow connected? Him coming back from Antarctica just as the scales shifted on the World's arena; just as She decided to give humanity a fighting chance.

Hellboy should be that fighting chance – John was sure of that with every fibre of his being. Hellboy and his family: Liz, Abe, agent Clay. Not a homicidal elf and a human whose life's philosophy was based on finding a peaceful way out of every situation. Especially not them together, damnit!

John decided to go to bed when thoughts like that started plaguing his mind. It was completely strange for him, to be so angry at the situation that couldn't really be blamed on anyone; it was also draining.

"Are you going to get up or do I have to call in the major, sir?" DeLuca interrupted John's silent breakdown in his usual way. That snappy wit will take him a long way in life.

"Don't you dare." John was not in the mood for the kind of mothering his mountain of a friend would surely bring about. As far as John was aware _caring too much_ was Kowalski's most prominent bad habit.

Sometimes he wondered what kind of genes created that kind of human being. Were his parents demigods or something?

Regardless, John was perfectly able to get on with his own life without help or interruptions, thank you very much. Speaking about which…

"You can go," he said to the rookie as he tried to pull his battered body off the bed. "I can deal from here."

"No can do, sir," DeLuca answered with that pixie smile of his. (_98% of the population of United States wasn't aware how much of a menace pixies were; therefore, they are not cute at all._) "Major ordered to keep an eye on you under threat of physical harm if you manage to break yourself further, sir."

"I did not break myself!"

"And Director Hart also expressed a direct wish to see you as soon as you're awake, sir."

"Okay, okay, I'm up." John couldn't argue with that request, but it didn't change the fact that he wasn't really keen on going to Hart's office to be started at – again.

He's managed to stand and limped to the dresser for some clean underwear under the watchful, yet amused gaze of the rookie agent. It wasn't his idea of a perfect morning in any sense. Although, strange thing, his leg _did_ feel much better than yesterday; stabbing pain he experienced with every step just a day before numbed down to a steady dull throbbing. That was to be expected, but not yet, – not before taking any painkillers. John looked at his bandaged hands – they also felt much better – the right one was virtually pain-free. Broken finger on the left was the only thing that seemed to cause problems. Swelling also went down. That was…

No, not yet. He will take shower first and he will eat something and _then_ he will start thinking about it all. Not now.

"Do you need help with the shower, sir?" DeLuca seemed too happy asking the question.

"No, I can manage," John repeated with forced patience. Something occurred to him while he was collecting clean trousers from his cramped closet. "Did anyone check on the prince and brought him a meal while I was out?"

For the first time the smile on Tony's face waned.

"Are you crazy? Of course not. Sir."

"What?" That stopped John in his tracks, expression aghast. "Why?"

"Well… he still has his weapons," younger man admitted. "We waged that you are the only person he won't kill on sight so…"

"Oh God!"

"Don't be like that, sir. He is scary as hell! And he stares!"

"He stares." John couldn't decide if he should cry or laugh.

"Yeah, like he plans to tear your throat out with his teeth… or rather our throats. You, he seems only want to beat unconscious. We decided it's less creepy and well, terrifying, hence the decision to leave feeding him to you, sir."

He could not believe in what he was hearing. Those were grown men and women, for goodness sake! Soldiers and agents and adults!

"You all spent a lot of time thinking about it," he commented sarcastically.

"Well, yeah. Nothing like some toe-curling terror to kick the good ol' brain in gear."

John sighed with defeat and dragged himself to the bathroom. Only once he glanced back at the young agent, just to ask one question.

"How many bets?"

"Only two," DeLuca smiled, completely unapologetic. "And they're both in your favour, sir."

Thank God for that at least.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

It was too bright and too loud. Everything around made noise: birds, animals, insects. They were all around, awake and loud. It was grating. They were also too smart to come closer.

It had to find a hideout from the sun and fast; clinging to moving shades of the forest's life wasn't enough. Trees were swinging in the way that shortened their shadows when It tried to hide in them; their roots shrunk and closed making It unable to hide underneath, in the cool darkness. Ground was cold and whenever touched It froze even more, keeping It moving away from the rest and a chance to regroup. The earth wanted It gone and went to great pains to ensure it happening.

It gathered itself as much as it was possible from the spilled blood, the anger, and the hate. It was still pathetically weak. It needed a home, a place with warmth and shade, a place with something that could carry It further into the world. There was nothing here that would suffice – animals were passing It in wide circles, forest folk were running away without even knowing why. They knew something wrong is coming and so they escaped as fast as their short legs would carry them.

But there had to be something there! Something live and breathing! Something…

"No, I am not calling mom about this, Allison! You will!"

What? What's this? A voice.

"I am so sick of you pulling this shit on us over and over again! No, I am not being nasty, but I will be in a second!"

Voice was coming closer. Low pitched and angry, oh so angry.

"No, I will not drive to Washington to pick you up, you idiot! No, I will not send you cash to get a ride home! You got yourself into this mess; you find a way to get out of it!"

Ground was shivering and It dared to move a little wisp of itself to feel – oh, a running creature. Heavy, big. And angry.

"You have no idea how it worries dad, do you? No, of course, you're never there to see the fallout! …you know that crying doesn't work on me anymore, don't you? It stopped working after mom's first stroke!"

Closer and closer, maybe the creature will get close enough for It to reach out and touch…

The earth became colder, the forest knew. Forest understood Its plans and wanted to warn the creature off. But it was useless effort for the creature was busy talking to the little mechanical device and didn't think to look around and see why the wind picked up or the path roughened.

"God, why won't you just… fuck, I tripped!... You know what? I am not having this, Allison! I went out for a jog, not to listen to your whining! Why won't you… fuck!"

Closer, so close now. Just a few more steps and it will be in easy reach…

"I am finished, stop calling me. Just go somewhere else and never come back, okay? It will do us all some good."

Almost, almost…

"Yeah, I mean it! Either straighten up your act or fall into a ditch and die!... _Fuck_!"

_Got it!_

_._

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

"Agent Myers. Sit down, please."

John didn't hesitate by the door. Even if he spent a second longer than necessary making sure it's properly closed and then adjusting his grip on the crutch. Still, he sat down in the chair opposite director and looked straight ahead; gaze going a little over the man's left shoulder. There was a really good reproduction of the Last Judgement on the wall behind him. Very nice, climatic.

He hated this chair, thought; he never knew that to do with his hands while sitting on it. Especially, when someone stared at him from the other end of the desk. Director's eyes had an unnerving ability to look at someone as if they could see their soul and there was no agent in B.P.R.D. who didn't flinch when subjected to their stare.

Well, there was Agent Fletcher, but everyone assumed it was a fluke due to him having no soul to speak of.

John would prefer to stand for this talk, because then he could at least shift from foot to foot.

Director Hart didn't cough before speaking, didn't clear his throat. There was no warning before his calm, dry voice cut through the silence.

"I wonder, Myers, how far your administrative powers stretch these days."

Oh… He didn't expect to hear this. More, he _never wanted_ to hear _this_.

"I don't understand, sir."

"It's an honest question," said the Director; he took off his glasses and picked a small cloth from one of the desk's drawers. His movements were very precise and measured as he cleaned the lenses. "For a while now my agents seem to treat you as the 'to go man' not only concerning the nature of their targets, but their assignments as a whole. Recently it came to my attention that technicians have been updating our databases according to the information provided by you. You keep contacts with the Other Kin, which can turn into a serious security breach. Due to the latest revelations, tell me, Myers, was I mistaken to ignore them?"

If John was sweating a minute before, he was feeling cold now. It was not what he wanted to hear from anyone ever again, because the last time he's made a man in power doubt his good intentions, he's been shipped off to Antarctica without as much as a 'goodbye'. Maybe this time they'll give him enough time to pack few sweaters at least? And he won't have to resolve his tenancy agreement via email? This time he would stock up on chocolate and coffee - bare necessities on the Pole.

"What I mean, agent Myers, is that you're our Librarian and Research consultant, and yet you seem to have had hand in every mission B.P.R.D. conducted in the last six months, making decisions that are often outside of your authority."

John had a faint idea that '_Kowalski likes me'_ wouldn't fly in this situation. Neither will '_IT guys are terrible at Latin'_, nor '_Fletcher's idea of a mission plan is: shoot first, kick the corpse later, and it will get him killed one day'_.

And about all the Others that decided to 'visit' the base…

"I did not ask them to come," was all he could say. "Prince Nuada is... he is very uncooperative. And he was starving at this point, and still wouldn't tell me what to do. We have no personnel able to do what they did, sir." John tried to reason, tried to make the man see how the situation spiralled out of his control "I just asked for advice, I didn't tell any of them to come. I didn't even plan to. They just came, sir, on their own."

"And did they tell you why?"

"To help," this time the answer was too simple.

In reality, there was no other answer that he could think of. It's not as if he pushed himself into the control room and took over from Jordan at the main console. He didn't force his action plans on any of the squads, neither did he held Kowalski's hand through all of his missions. All the things Director mentioned just... kind of happened.

Not at first, no, but people started to come to him for advice. First technicians, who couldn't decipher late professor's cataloguing system. Then doctor Feehney dropped into the Library to ask about the effects of ghoul's saliva on living flesh and he went to the Infirmary where Fletcher was hovering over one of his men who at this point started frothing at the mouth... John doesn't really remember in which moment he decided that shouting at the sergeant was a good idea, but he did. He even threw things at the man while trying to make him see reason. Not one of his proudest moments, that.

And they started coming after that. For advice, for explanation, for plans. Asking him to translate something, to make it clear, to make it understandable. And, just like that he became the one they relied on. Even if, initially, his job was to write reports and collect data, to help out with lexical problems and serve as Dictionary of Strange and Unusual for the people in charge.

Even that thing with the unicorn – Kowalski came to him first. No one informed Director before it was over, but they came to John and pulled him to the front row of this whole messed up situation just on the faith that he will know what to do. That he will tell them what to do.

John never thought about it in this way, but Director Hart was right. He was filling in for a "to go man".

_He was filling in for Abe. _

That thought sent a sharp stab through his heart.

"Myers?"

"I didn't... I mean, I wasn't... aware that it came to that," John said carefully. "I simply try to help. When people come to me with questions, I try to answer them to the best of my abilities. I always thought that they have authorisation from you, sir. I am, frankly, at loss."

After that Hart was silent for a couple of minutes, all attention seemingly directed at his glasses, while John started crossing off items from his mental Things To Take Hiking list. Now, as it was pointed out to him, he was starting to feel how the man might have been right in questioning him. The chain of command under Eliah Hart was clear and strict, no more 'going in alone' Hellboy made his name on. No more doing as they pleased. Everything was done by the book and it worked well... right until agents started bypassing it to include John.

It still worked well, he was convinced. But it was also as close to insubordination as they all could come. And insubordination was something that couldn't be tolerated in the kind of agency they worked for. Insubordination got good people killed or hurt. It weakened them all.

And, really, he shouldn't be surprised that Hart started questioning his conduct – especially now, In the light of recent accidents. With Kin entering the base as they pleased and the whole Other World breathing down their necks. And all they could do was cooperating with an all-powerful being none of them ever seen or heard of – having to trust information coming from the man who was a centre point of this chaos.

Director had only his words to go on and John suddenly understood how much it had to frustrate the man.

"You know what I spent half of my night on?"

"No, sir," he answered politely.

"I spent it on haggling with a water spirit that has distressing exhibitionist tendencies. " Director put his glasses on and looked at John in the way he never did before – gone was the stony calm. It got replaced by frustration spiced with curiosity.

"Haggling, sir?"

"Yes, it could be called that. You see, agent Myers, I don't like losing my people to the Other Side; in any way."

John felt his palms sweat. It was worse than he expected, then, he shouldn't leave them alone last night!

"You understand that we're facing a very unstable situation here, yes? I took over as the head of B.P.R.D. with the hope of improving its track record in any way possible. What we do here… you, most of all working in this place, should be aware of how important it is."

Because you were there with Hellboy when the Devil called his true name – was the unspoken part. You've seen the world ending and felt on your own skin how much it takes to save it. You've seen the thin line this world is standing on and how little it takes to push it over.

"I am not inclined to look favourably on any more… powers meddling in our work." The strict look was back.

"But sir, this time we're working towards the same goal." Lately John couldn't seem to stop himself from digging the hole deeper, it seemed. "Us and them."

"Are we?"

And just like that, the man looked tired. As if a mask fell off his face showing the soft underneath that was made of human flesh, not marble.

"Sir?"

"She told me that the world will end up swallowed by the darkness, if we can't stop it," Eliah Hart confessed darkly. "She said that the Prince is the only one capable of fighting it and that you are the only one keeping him alive and sane, Myers. That your strange bond is the only thing that stands between us and the end of his spear." He moved forward, leaning on the desk, folding his fingers tightly. "Did you know about that?"

John was drowning – in shock and in fear that moved up his throat like cold water, heavy and suffocating.

"No," he managed to force out. "…I didn't."

Director nodded once, as if confirming his own suspicions.

"Do you see, then, what it means? We are stuck between a rock and a hard place at the moment and it all hangs on him and you. People working here started to realise it. You are in a very precautious position now, agent."

Oh God, he didn't need that. He didn't need that!

"I have to be sure that I can trust you. That giving you a benefit of doubt won't backfire on us all. Can I trust you, John?"

That last question was an unexpected way out, like something of a proposition. Maybe even a test. Whatever it was John grabbed it with both hands.

"Yes, sir. Yes, you can. I work for B.P.R.D. and that won't change."

Another bout of staring and tension ensued and it almost stopped his heart. Eliah Hart was a good man, but he was also a man of principle – something John was painfully aware of. Gaining his trust wasn't easy and just thinking about losing it was a nightmare. It would mean that John T. Myers had no place in B.P.R.D. anymore – that he had no place anywhere, to be honest. Because he would still be tied to the prince that fought for them, unable to leave. He would become an addition, not a human anymore – just like Other Kind viewed him: a cog, just a part of something bigger, more important. A tool.

"You are a good man, John," Director spoke at last with a strange finality in his voice. "Let us hope it will be enough."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Oh, John, are you alright?" Tak appeared as soon as John stepped into the kitchen. His tiny hat slid over his face from the hurry and little creature struggled to fix it when his brother stepped out from behind him.

"We heard that you were sick, Mister Myers," Tik was much calmer and more composed, but the way he kept wringing his hands in the apron betrayed his worry. "Dave told us that you had an accident and… oh my, what's happened to your leg?"

John was about to answer when Tak jumped in, slapping his brother on the arm.

"Don't you know? It was the Prince, stupid!"

"Hush, you!" Tik scolded, terrified. "You are so rude! I was trying to be polite and wait for Mister Myers to tell us himself!"

"Why? This way we will only lose time! Everyone knows what happened to John by now, there's no point in pretending it's… ouch!"

"I am terribly sorry, Mister Myers." Tik bowed low to John, his tiny sharp fingers clenched tightly on Tak's ear. "My brother is a simpleton, don't listen to him. We were both worried about you. And Mum told us to send her regards too."

John decided long time ago that these two will probably be the cause of his mental breakdown one day, so he didn't even let himself wonder about the true meaning of Tak's words (Everyone knew? Really? _Who_ everyone?). He just forced his protesting face to smile and leaned closer to the boys.

"Thank you, Tik. And thank your mother from me, will you? I appreciate it." It was an honest sentiment at least. Then he reached out to poke Tak in the head with one finger (but gently, gently). "And you should listen to your brother, mister. We still have to discuss your recent conduct. I don't remember telling you to invite Olga over."

At that the elf visibly shrunk and hid behind his brother. His little face showed anguish. One blink of an eye later he was standing on top of the fridge, both hands holding on to his hat.

"I didn't mean to!" he wailed. "But she wouldn't tell me and you needed answers, John! Please, don't send us away!"

Tak's voice was so pitiful and his milky eyes pleaded John with so much sincerity that he had no heart in him to scold the little one. Yeah, he was just soft like that – and aware that it was a character flaw where Other Kin were concerned, but to Hell with it.

"Alright, alright," he beckoned Tak back with a gesture. "Just don't do it anymore."

"I will see to it that he doesn't, Mister Myers," Tik promised solemnly.

"Yes, thank you, Tik. I know I can count on you. Now, about Nuada's lunch…"

Both brothers jumped to the task of preparing the dishes they've made earlier for transport, while explaining what they were and the ingredients used. They were both back to being excited and happy, and John felt a little lighter watching them dash about. However strange and volatile his life has become there were still little embers of joy in it. Little, rare moments of happiness. He intended to keep them at all cost, because whatever Director Hart would think about Tik and Tak, John knew they were two tiny living examples of those really rare good Others. And that was what the agency needed now.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Nuada didn't react to the appearance of his caretaker in any special way. He just lifted his head and fixed him with a usual disdainful look.

"So you don't plan to starve me to death, after all?" It was a simple question, but the way human flinched from it was curious. As if it hit a sore spot. Interesting. He could go deeper and see why, but he stopped himself in time. No, there was no reason to acknowledge the bond more than he already did. Nothing good came from it.

The man looked strained today, but tried to hide it – keeping his face calm while his hands shook like leaves on the wind as they set the plates on the table. While the prince was able to admit that the reason this time might not have been fear, but the injuries it did nothing to lessen his disgust. His own hands were almost healed up by now, his leg was also knitting itself together with impressive speed (what good food won't fix!) while the human was still swathed in bandages and limping.

Smell of freshly baked silver moss bread was startling and once again the prince wondered who did the agency managed to imprison or buy to cook for them. The dishes he's been served so far have been excellent. Of course he would never admit it to the vermin he was forced to work with, that would only serve as giving them something to hold over him. But mealtimes very soon became his favourite time of the day.

Pathetic, really. He was turning into a dog, waiting for his masters to feed him like some mangy cur!

It didn't change the fact that he would not refuse the food even if it turned out to be poisoned – it reminded him of home too much. Of better years when he was still young and blameless. Not pure, he was never pure, but… better. Better than he's turned out. It was painful to remember, but everything else was even worse, so he stayed with that. With the memories of a long-lost home that he abandoned of his own free will.

If he knew back than how it will end… he would probably still do it, but he would prepare better. If only he had the ability to see the future…

"We never intended to." Nuada came back to paying attention when the human decided to answer him. "You assume too much."

"I know enough about your pathetic species to make assumptions that are usually right!" Nuada snapped back.

"And yet we still manage to surprise you," was the immediate calm answer.

Little wretch shouldn't be this calm now, not when it was just revealed what was between them. Was it possible that the vermin didn't know? Wasn't aware of the ramifications?

No, it was impossible. Nuada remembered the mission, the moment when the beast bit him and his caretaker fell down. He remembered how the man looked at him – with shock and pain, but most of all, with understanding. It took just one moment, a speck of a second, for him to understand what happened. One moment more to deny it and try to redirect his thoughts, but the harm was done. They both knew.

How could he stay so calm, then? It was frustrating. Especially when Nuada could still feel the tension thrum under his skin, in his healed up hands. No, not his hands. Human's hands that were still mending. It was even more maddening, to feel something that didn't belong to him.

'_Ah, but you caused it,'_ whispered a quiet voice in his head that sounded distressingly similar to his mother.

What of it? He might have been the cause of the injuries, but it wasn't that he desired it. That anger was his and his alone, it was meant to calm _him_ down. He didn't care for the human enough to purposely cause him harm.

If, or when, he decided to harm him, Nuada expected himself to be more thorough and… effective. It would be fast and permanent, the prince thought as his hand wandered absently to the spear still hanging in the sheath by his side. He didn't dare to part with it even for a moment in the last couple of days.

However, the move was enough to draw human's eyes to it and a speculative look that appeared in them made Nuada tense instinctively.

"You will not take it from me," he growled out, aware of tiny microphones and cameras in the room. He wanted it out of the way fast, for everyone to know that this one fact was indisputable. He will not be unarmed and at the mercy of humans for a moment longer.

"I am aware of that," human answered lightly. "I am just thinking about the care. Do you need anything for it? A case? Whetstone?"

"I want nothing from you."

And there it was a gain, a little flinch, barely a shiver that run along human's arms. Anyone other than Nuada would've missed it. John's voice was deceptively calm, but his body told another story. Not unusual, humans were known for their penchant for lying. But why? To seem braver?

No, he was keeping his eyes down and didn't try to challenge the prince. What else, then? Fear? He didn't smell of it…

"I don't really know what it is," the man spoke suddenly setting the last of the plates on the narrow table. "Something made out of moss and sugar, and red meat in a minty sauce. I wasn't paying attention when they were telling me."

They? What they?

It was maddening that even such simple information was hidden from him!

Angered, Nuada reached over from the other side of the table and poured himself a glass of clover water to have something to do with his hands. It would not do to attack a wounded animal, even if it annoyed the life out of him. Stupid thing couldn't even run away because of the limp, it would be a completely honourless kill. And the prince has had enough of those for now.

Nuada expected the man to go as soon as the dishes were set, so he could finally sit down and eat, but he was stalling. One sharp look meant to send him scampering was met with a blank stare that was directed mostly at his hand. The one that held up the glass.

"I would be grateful if you didn't repeat that performance," human spoke quietly. "The tiling was new and it will have to be redone."

Oh, if that was how he wanted to play it, so be it, Nuada could play along. After all, _not acknowledging_ that one thing between them didn't seem like such a bad idea.

"And I should care about it, because?" he answered with a cold disdain dripping from every syllable.

And, just to make sure everything was clear, he dared to push a little deeper, to the place his mind tried to shy away from since his awakening. It was a small thing that he was used to in his previous life – pushing emotions and thoughts trough the bond with his sister. They both did it, every time they were close enough that words would be a pointless waste of air. Every time they shared a private joke or an opinion that differed from those of their father.

It was a little thing, a reflex, really, to enhance his words and push his disdain on the other side.

Nuada caught himself in the moment his human nanny flinched back from him as if physically struck, eyes wide with shock and hands clenching into fists. That reaction surprised him for a second before he remembered that what for him was a small thing, for the human may actually not be so. Humans were so weak after all.

And yet…

"You know what… just eat." This one pulled himself together with _almost_ admirable speed. "Someone will be back for the plates later… just… yeah."

Only when the door closed behind the man Nuada decided to sit down. Food was getting cold and it was no treat to eat cold moss bread. He focused on the meal and, as always, tried to pick up some clue that would tell him who prepared it. A trace of flavour out of order, some spice that didn't fit – as always, he found nothing. Every dish was perfect.

He ate without stalling, but also without hurry, aware of being watched and not wanting to give anything away. They would have to guess his tastes if they wanted to get one over him again. In the meanwhile he considered the thought about acquiring some whetstones by himself – it would be hard, but not impossible. Annoying wretch was right; Nuada needed something to sharpen the spear, especially after recent fight. Even if enchanted steel didn't really need sharpening that often, it was a habit that was hard to break. Every good warrior learned very early to take care of his weapons and Nuada prided himself on being one of the best. Though the case with a lock and key would be a good addition to the room, – the one that appeared two days ago to house his armour was good enough, if ridiculously plain, – he didn't trust his jailers enough to leave the weapon behind anytime soon. He could function without armour – it was awkward and unpractical to wear it on daily basis, – but being unarmed just felt wrong.

He expected to spend one more day locked up in his room and left alone so it surprised him that it wasn't so. Nuada almost jumped from the chair when the steel doors opened wide to reveal an armed, yet smiling man who beckoned him with a wave.

"Come on, highness!" the major called in his usual "indoors" tone. "Doc wants to see you for the evaluation and if everything's okay you can go back to smashing things in the gym apart with that toothpick of yours."

It was insulting beyond all measure and Nuada had to bite his teeth hard to stop himself from gutting the man where he stood. It was demeaning and he would not stand for it… but he had to. He was damned, because this was now his life. She decided his punishment and all he could do was to accept it with his head bowed. He would, he was stronger than this.

But the possibility of smashing things apart sounded _good_ at the moment.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"I am going to check in with the Director. You two stay here and don't fucking move until I get back. Anderson, keep your eyes peeled. Richards, don't piss yourself. Anything happens, yell."

"Yes'sir."

It would be amusing how these humans thought he couldn't hear them from the other end of that 'gym'. Kowalski should know better.

The mountain of a man was a riddle to the prince. He seemed simple enough, a book-example of a soldier, almost a caricature of one. Big and burly, and loud. He spewed curses like an old gnome: something that Nuada found disgusting, yet at the same time… not. Major was obeyed by his people to the point of ridiculousness; they were awed and afraid of him and yet they looked upon him with genuine affection. And maybe, just _maybe_, it was deserved.

Because the man seemed to know no fear. And he could go from carefree and smiling to deathly serious in a blink of an eye. Nuada saw it during the last mission – how the man easily swung between an annoying simpleton and a battle-hardened warrior. Truth to be told, it almost gave him a headache back then.

The things one could get used to.

He swung his left arm out and followed it with easy grace in a straightforward attack, bare feet barely touching the mats. Halfway thought the move he changed direction and stepped to the right, a quick feign on bent knees and a turn to lose some speed, and changed the direction again to attack another one of his imagined foes. His leg protested a little to the sudden twist, so he had to compensate quickly leaning back at the waist and changing steps. The move was so fluid that no one who saw it would take it for anything other than planned and deliberate.

Especially if the viewers tended to be a slow minded humans. Ones that would whistle quietly seeing every backflip and more advanced block.

Graceless curs! One would wonder how they've managed to conquer the Earth. Being so slow and weak, and entirely reliant on technology. Without it they were like dust on the wind, harmless.

No, not really. Nuada was honest enough to admit that the humans of the past were different, still disgusting and greedy, but they were… harder. Stronger. Worthy of acknowledgement. They rode into battle on the horseback with swords in their hands and traded their own flesh and blood for victory. They were simpler, yes, but slightly easier to stand.

Another attack that changed directions halfway through; another sidestep and quick correction. Awkward twist of the wrist that made his left hand ache for a second – it had to be dealt with before his fingers loosened on the shaft of the spear. Another whistle.

Next imaginary enemy had a face – dark-skinned man called Anderson. Nuada cut him open from stomach to collarbone in a single stroke.

People of this century were just pathetic on the average. They needed a Devil's spawn to protect them from the nightmares they've called to life themselves. From the creatures they've angered with their thoughtlessness and greed. As much as they proclaimed that they cared about the planet, they systematically destroyed it without remorse. Not even brave enough to admit their own mistakes, even less to own up to them.

A stab and a jump, low landing and a spin to the side, feign and a harsh slash.

This one was for the blond man with broken nose – Richards. The cowardly one.

_Oh, but you know all about owning up to one's mistakes, don't you? _

This time the voice in his head sounded like… himself. Just younger. And better. He tried to ignore it.

_Ignorance is a purely human characteristic, isn't it? _

Slash and stab and another slash.

_Isn't it right then, for us to be here, amongst humans? We blend in splendidly. _

The prince fought the urge to growl out a curse. He knew.

Of course he knew! Wasn't it the reason he ended up in this place? Wasn't it enough of him not to kill those… humans when he first awoke? Wasn't that enough of a sacrifice on his part? He agreed to cooperate and did everything that was asked of him, didn't he?

Wasn't that enough of an admittance?

He knew where he made mistakes, understood why he did so. He knew the importance of what he's done, understood the tragic result of his arrogance that may come to pass if he doesn't stop it. And only one thing he wasn't able to force himself to feel was remorse.

He could not regret wanting to change the world. He would not regret the _need_ to take back from humans all that has been stolen from his Kind. His father's kingdom, their people's lives and dignity, the light in his sister's eyes…

He was dark and anger and hate. He was war and bloodshed and he _acted_.

All he could force himself to regret was _how_ he did things, not _why_ or even that he did them at all. Not even one human life was of importance to him and he did not regret their blood on his hands.

_But their blood is not the only one marking our hands, prince. That's why it hurts, because it's…_

A backflip and a block. Third opponent was a big man, a giant, really. His face was a mix of red and tan. Condescending smirk meshed together with a curse as Nuada cut off his head.

_She was right, we should step back. We should listen to reason. And now she… _

Step to the right, a run and a roll. Spear changed hands as fourth opponent came into view. This one small and weak, one for mercy kill, really. Feeble thing, with trembling hands and pale face – and blue eyes opened wide in shock.

For the first time since the start of the kata Nuada lost his step. And it made him angry.

It shouldn't bother him that the apparition flinched back from him once more!

This was supposed to be the other part of his heart? So weak and useless? Flinching back from the smallest mental poke? Running away from him?

He stumbled and almost fell on the mat when his healing leg flared up with sudden pain – that was the reason, the only one. Not the thought that suddenly struck him right between the eyes.

("…Anders? What is he…"

"Shut up! He's probably catching a breather." )

The human run from him.

("He doesn't look tired."

"Have you ever seen a tired elf?"

"Well, no…"

"So shut up.")

Well, good. Nuada didn't need the miserable wretch after all. He was just fine without useless ramblings by his ear and mysterious smiles whenever he asked the man a simple question.

("Should we call major?"

"For the last time, Richards, shut up. The guy is standing still, it's not exactly a reason to panic."

"But he didn't open his eyes yet, man!"

"Oh God, you're right! Call Hart, the elf is resting his eyeballs! Ring on alarm!"

"…you're an ass, man.")

No. Wrong. It wasn't the truth.

_Stop lying to us, prince._

The truth was that he didn't _want_ the wretch. But he _needed_ him.

Even if it was only human, weak and rotten, – half of that heart was his and he needed it to stay alive. To stay sane and fulfil his mission; to carry on his punishment. It was Her decision and he should feel grateful that She even bothered to find him a heart; instead of leaving him alone and incomplete.

And he's made the human run.

("The spear is shrinking back."

"You crack one phallic joke and I swear I will punch you."

"Man, but he doesn't look good."

"Oh, so now you are concerned about our friendly neighbourhood Terminator?"

"Of course I am, moron. You saw what happened to Librarian the last time he's got…")

The sick feeling hit him like a fist made of iron. Nuada's heart lurched painfully in his chest and his stomach followed suit. He barely managed to keep his last meal in, and only because this powerful reaction was just an echo. It wasn't his.

If he were a human and a little less dignified, the prince could've thought that payback is a bitch. As he was, he could only think that knocking out his two 'guardians' on the way to the exit was fairly satisfying.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Johnny, are you alright?"

Olga was looking at him with concern from Abe's tank, her translucent form already formed when he stepped into the library.

"No, Olga, I don't think I am," John answered truthfully.

He didn't have strength and reason to think up some calming lies. Ten minutes ago he almost threw up his own stomach and now he needed to sit down with a cup of hot tea and try to forget that this was his life. Some minutes on front of the mirror in his tiny bathroom helped him to look less like a dead body, but he still felt like a wreck; his stomach decided to turn into one big cramp. Injured leg was not helping.

It was all nerves, he told himself on the way to the kettle standing on the small table by the wall. It was ancient and beautiful, a work of art that belonged to the late professor – and it made a mean cup of tea. John poured the water in, trying to ignore how his hands were still shaking.

All in all he should be glad that he's managed to last this long. Throwing up in front of the Sidhe would be a nightmare; it would be the last confirmation of his weakness.

_Well, I don't know how anyone would keep calm in that situation_, - his self-respect snarled, insulted. _Three hours is a pretty good time._

Yeah, true, it was…

"Johnny? What's wrong?"

"What are you still doing here, Olga?" John asked, without turning, concentrating instead on measuring a perfect spoonful of loose tea into the cup. "I thought that after talking with the Director you would… well, go back to Great Falls."

Yes, he was keeping himself quite well. Considering.

"You still need answers, boy," rusalka answered calmly. "You still have questions."

"Yeah, I have one," he poured hot water over the leaves and finally turned around, facing the water spirit. "How do I get out of this?"

Olga's face was stuck in a look of surprise that did nothing to make her less pretty. But it caused something in John to flare with anger.

Surprise? Really? That he wanted out of this madness?

_Fucking really?!_

"This went on long enough," he began before she even managed to open her mouth. "It's all crazy and it won't work, and I want out!"

"Johnny, calm down. She wished it and there's no point in…"

"I didn't!" John was aware of the thin ice he was stepping on, but, frankly, he didn't care at the moment. He was in a full-blown panic mode, wondering only what took it so long to catch up. "I didn't wish it! I wasn't even asked if I agree to it! From what I can understand, neither was he!"

And, oh man, how he understood.

It was a while since someone made him feel like that – insignificant and unwanted. And Hellboy's gripes didn't even compete with the way it was delivered this time. Straight to his brain, snapping his spine and crushing his heart on the way up. It was absolutely terrifying how easy it happened.

Olga's face changed at the last one. Her dark eyes narrowed and her lips pulled back a little, baring just the tips of sharp teeth.

"What did the prince tell you?" she asked.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," and he wasn't even lying. It would be funny if it wasn't so scary. "He didn't have to. It went too far. I am not whatever She needs and I just can't… I can't be what She wants. And he doesn't want it any more than I do! Doesn't that matter at all?"

"It was decided," this time Olga's voice was hard and decisive. "You don't have to be happy about it, but…"

"Happy? To have a horse choose me as a spare heart for a homicidal maniac?!"

"It was not a horse, boy!"

Oh, for the love of God…!

"Who cares?!" John almost shouted, throwing his hands into the air. When they fell down so did his anger, apparently. He was tired and in pain and it finally caught up to him. "I don't care, Olga. I am tired of things being decided for me, behind my back." And he wasn't talking just about this situation either; rusalka had to feel it, because she stayed silent. "Would it kill Her to ask me first?"

"And what would you say then, malczik?"

He really didn't know. But he wasn't in the mood for discussing it on top of everything. Truth to be told, as his anger receded he started to feel like an asshole for causing a scene. Way to do, scout, yell at the only person who wants to help you.

John rubbed his face and shook his head. The tea was ready, and he had a lot of reports to go through. Nothing silenced panic attacks as well as an all-nighter spent by the desk. Maybe tomorrow he would be too tired to feel dread before facing the prince. Or maybe he would be too tired to feel pity for roping one of the rookies into taking his place.

"I have to go," he managed to mutter. Apology would have to come at later date; he didn't feel bad enough yet. "I'll see you later, Olga."

"Johnny…"

Her hands clung to the glass wall, as if she would embrace him if they weren't separated by it. John tightened his hold on the steaming mug and nodded stiffly before leaving.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Nuada stood in front of the door to the library deciding if he should go in. The place felt… old. And protected. The smell of magic emanated from it like a wave of cedar smoke. It was Light and warmth. Completely unexpected in this human-made hole in the ground.

And that wasn't the only thing stopping him from entering. There have been voices. Raised voice of his caretaker and another one, calmer, but… different. Woman's voice. Other's voice. Like running water. Could it be…?

Was she a prisoner like him?

"_I didn't wish it! I wasn't even asked if I agree to it! From what I can understand, neither was he!"_

Nuada froze in place.

What? Of all the things to hear he didn't expect this one.

"_What did the prince tell you?" _

"_Nothing. Absolutely nothing."_

And now they were arguing.

_Not so calm now, boy_; Nuada thought smugly. He knew that calm front the wretch presented to him was only a façade. Now he had his…

"_Happy? To have a horse choose me as a spare heart for a homicidal maniac?!" _

…proof.

"_And what would you say then, malczik?" _

The lack of answer for this question caused something in prince's chest to tighten painfully. He could swear it wasn't his, that it was just an echo.

But he wasn't sure.

.

.

.

.

* * *

><p>Yeah, I am a bastard. I spent the last month arguing with myself about giving Nuada some feels that are not entirely in the realm of miseryhate and came up somewhere in the middle. He is a hard popsickle to unfreeze and I don't want to just dump feelings on him - but from the other side, I don't think I want to torture Johnny much longer. He is a good boy:) And there's a PLOT to follow (yeah, rest assured, there is a plot there, it will be back just as I sweep the emotional stage a little).

.


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